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Engineering student wants to try out writing poems
Poems
estelle deamor
Dec 2014
Ha kamatuoran la, gin-susumhan na gud ako,
Diri ka pa ba gin-susumhan?
Hin mga buhat nga balik-balik nala?
Diri mo ba nahahalata?
Nga utro-utro nala kita?
Kun may napakiana ha imo, "Ano kumusta na?"
An pirmi mo baton: "Adi asya la gihapon, waray pinagkaibahan han kakulop!"
Ngan kontento ko na hito.
The truth is, I am sick and tired.
Aren’t you sick and tired?
Doing the same things over and over again?
Still haven’t noticed it?
This has been like this again and again.
When somebody asks you, “How is everything with you?”
Your usual reply is: “Oh nothing’s changed same as yesterday.”
And you’re happy as it is.
Usahay liwat nabati ako ha imo nga utro-utro an reklamo.
Nga baga hin kadaan ngan guba nga plaka,
Balik-balik an tukar, masakit ha talinga.
Reklamo an imo pamahaw,
Ngan amo la gihapon hasta panihapon.
Kay kuno makuri.
Kay kuno waray salapi.
Kay kuno waray kapas.
Kun may sweldo daw la an pag-rineklamo,
siguro maiha na unta nga nag-riko.
Sometimes, I will hear you complaining again and again.
Like an old and broken retro vinyl,
playing over and over again, it is hurting my ears.
Complaining is your breakfast,
and it is your same meal for dinner.
Because it’s hard.
Because we don’t have money.
Because I am powerless.
If complaining will provide you a salary,
perhaps by now, you might quite be wealthy.
Nagkatapo kita kanina ha dalan han "Kada Adlaw"
Asya la gihapon an imo sul-ot nga bado,
ngan an kabutang han imo buhok.
Asya la gihapon an pagkakurumos han imo nawong,
Ngan an bubble gum nga hasta yana imo la gihap ginsisinamsam.
Nangurog ako han kaluwad.
Tigda ako nahingasuka ha imo atubangan.
Pasayloa, pero magpapadayon ka nala ba hito?
Diri ka pa ba ginsusumhan?
Kay ha kamatuoran la, Naamin ako Nga Oo.
*I came across you at the street called “Everyday”
You were wearing the same clothes,
And your hair was fixed the same way.
You were having the same wrinkled frown in your face,
and was chewing the same bubble gum.
I cringe.
I suddenly felt vomiting in front of you.
I’m sorry, but will you keep on doing this?
Aren't you sick and tired?
Because to be honest with you, I think I am.
Diri ka pa ba gin-susumhan?
Hin mga buhat nga balik-balik nala?
Diri mo ba nahahalata?
Nga utro-utro nala kita?
Kun may napakiana ha imo, "Ano kumusta na?"
An pirmi mo baton: "Adi asya la gihapon, waray pinagkaibahan han kakulop!"
Ngan kontento ko na hito.
The truth is, I am sick and tired.
Aren’t you sick and tired?
Doing the same things over and over again?
Still haven’t noticed it?
This has been like this again and again.
When somebody asks you, “How is everything with you?”
Your usual reply is: “Oh nothing’s changed same as yesterday.”
And you’re happy as it is.
Usahay liwat nabati ako ha imo nga utro-utro an reklamo.
Nga baga hin kadaan ngan guba nga plaka,
Balik-balik an tukar, masakit ha talinga.
Reklamo an imo pamahaw,
Ngan amo la gihapon hasta panihapon.
Kay kuno makuri.
Kay kuno waray salapi.
Kay kuno waray kapas.
Kun may sweldo daw la an pag-rineklamo,
siguro maiha na unta nga nag-riko.
Sometimes, I will hear you complaining again and again.
Like an old and broken retro vinyl,
playing over and over again, it is hurting my ears.
Complaining is your breakfast,
and it is your same meal for dinner.
Because it’s hard.
Because we don’t have money.
Because I am powerless.
If complaining will provide you a salary,
perhaps by now, you might quite be wealthy.
Nagkatapo kita kanina ha dalan han "Kada Adlaw"
Asya la gihapon an imo sul-ot nga bado,
ngan an kabutang han imo buhok.
Asya la gihapon an pagkakurumos han imo nawong,
Ngan an bubble gum nga hasta yana imo la gihap ginsisinamsam.
Nangurog ako han kaluwad.
Tigda ako nahingasuka ha imo atubangan.
Pasayloa, pero magpapadayon ka nala ba hito?
Diri ka pa ba ginsusumhan?
Kay ha kamatuoran la, Naamin ako Nga Oo.
*I came across you at the street called “Everyday”
You were wearing the same clothes,
And your hair was fixed the same way.
You were having the same wrinkled frown in your face,
and was chewing the same bubble gum.
I cringe.
I suddenly felt vomiting in front of you.
I’m sorry, but will you keep on doing this?
Aren't you sick and tired?
Because to be honest with you, I think I am.
I have decided to put my entry to the 100 Thousand Poets for Change-Qatar last September 2014, as my very first submission here at HP. Hopefully you will enjoy my poetry in two tongues, Waray-Waray and English. This is my call for change.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
cameo cinema: memory
Mateuš Conrad
Jul 2018
.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
in terms of history and biology:
history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
monument valley: utah...
a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
so here's what i found
(band - song):
wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
the secret - bell of urgency,
unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens -
out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
sutrah - el septimo viaje...
who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
drunk? getting there...
it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
while buying a russian
standard liter,
asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
rekorderlig...
mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
sorry... magners:
irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
ålska and K ö nigsberg
*œ?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
cider...
- what was i talking about?
ah... the "dreaded" past...
the people who say:
but you can't live out a life,
holding onto a private past,
a memory...
so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
"dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
working from dasein...
hierjetzt -
or in english? presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
but with my privacy?
you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
glass of warm milk,
an egg yolk,
and a good scratch of butter...
(on the rare occasion,
milk infused with garlic)
mixed together...
before bedtime...
if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...
and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...
oh i get the youtube creators:
living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...
men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
ah ha ha!
what's the ratio?
last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
when Islam was quiet radical...
well... i cook, i clean...
what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
rent, in london?
extortion...
housing shortage...
well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...
i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
no... not really...
i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
get the picture?
paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
books and music...
mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!
i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...
two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
sign-language: na migi...
i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...
i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...
that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!
integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:
y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!
there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?
so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...
it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
casimir III...
jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
gott mit, uns!
mit eine leben wert leben:
erinnerung ist die nur kino
wert sehen eine film beim;
hell... could be worse:
i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
in terms of history and biology:
history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
monument valley: utah...
a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
so here's what i found
(band - song):
wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
the secret - bell of urgency,
unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens -
out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
sutrah - el septimo viaje...
who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
drunk? getting there...
it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
while buying a russian
standard liter,
asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
rekorderlig...
mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
sorry... magners:
irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
ålska and K ö nigsberg
*œ?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
cider...
- what was i talking about?
ah... the "dreaded" past...
the people who say:
but you can't live out a life,
holding onto a private past,
a memory...
so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
"dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
working from dasein...
hierjetzt -
or in english? presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
but with my privacy?
you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
glass of warm milk,
an egg yolk,
and a good scratch of butter...
(on the rare occasion,
milk infused with garlic)
mixed together...
before bedtime...
if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...
and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...
oh i get the youtube creators:
living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...
men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
ah ha ha!
what's the ratio?
last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
when Islam was quiet radical...
well... i cook, i clean...
what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
rent, in london?
extortion...
housing shortage...
well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...
i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
no... not really...
i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
get the picture?
paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
books and music...
mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!
i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...
two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
sign-language: na migi...
i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...
i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...
that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!
integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:
y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!
there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?
so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...
it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
casimir III...
jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
gott mit, uns!
mit eine leben wert leben:
erinnerung ist die nur kino
wert sehen eine film beim;
hell... could be worse:
i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
JOJO C PINCA Nov 2017
WALANG KAHULUGAN ANG BUHAY
JOJO C PINCA
Nov 2017
Walang eksaktong kahulugan ang buhay, ang buhay ay buhay ganun lang kasimple yun, walang itong drama at lalong hindi kumplikado. Masdan ang galaw ng kalikasan. Sumisikat ang araw sa umaga at lumulubog ito pag hapon na. Ang buwan ganun din sumisinag ito sa pagsapit ng gabi at nagkukubli pagdating ng bukang-liwayway. Ganito rin ang mga bituin, lahat sila kumikilos nang ayon sa kanilang galaw at katalagahan. Kumbaga sa musika rock sila pero simple lang. Kalmante lang ang dagat pero minsan maligalig din s’ya kung kinakailangan. At ang hangin walang humpay sa kanyang pag-ihip.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay sapagkat tayo ang gumagawa ng kahulugan ng sarili nating buhay; tayo ang lumilikha ng sarili nating kasaysayan. Tayo ang pumipili ng sarili nating kahulugan. Doktor ka ba? Manggamot ka nang buong husay, sagipin mo ang maraming buhay. Sundalo ka ba? Makipaglaban ka nang buong giting, ialay mo ang buhay mo para sa bayan. Nagsusulat ka ba? Magsulat ka nang buong puso nang magliwanag ang isipan na malabo. Kung ano man ang napili mo’ng gawin, gawin mo ito nang buong galing. Kung umiibig ka naman, umibig ka nang buong tapat at iaalay mo sa iyong sinta ang lahat. Maging mabuti ka sa kanya, mahalin mo s’ya nang higit sa lahat.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay, ‘wag mo itong hanapin sa relihiyon dahil wala ito roon. Panay kaulolan lang ang matutuhan mo sa mga nagbabanal-banalan at nag-aaring ganap, na kung umasta at magsalita akala mo ay kahuntahan nila ang Diyos. Wala rin ito sa pamahalaan at mga lingkod bayan kuno, lalong wala ito sa dami ng yaman.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay tulad sa isang tapayan na walang laman kailangan mo itong sidlan. Hindi bukas kundi ngayon ang panahon ng pagsalok ng kaalaman at karanasan kaya ‘wag mo itong sayangin. Walang kahulugan ang buhay ‘pagkat ang buhay ay isang kawalan na kailangan mo’ng punuan. Tulad ito sa blankong papel na kailangan mo’ng sulatan. Isang hiwaga na kailangan ikaw ang tumuklas. Walang kahulugan ang buhay basahin mo man ang lahat ng aklat at kahit pakinggan mo pa ang lahat ng talumpati sa mundo hindi mo ito makikita.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay ‘wag **** pagurin ang sarili mo sa paghahanap nito. Ang kahulugan ng buhay ay nand’yan sa loob ng puso mo. Kung saan ka maligaya naroon din ito. Aanhin mo ang maraming diploma at pagkilala kung hindi ka naman masaya? Ano’ng saysay ng mga palakpak kung huhupa rin pala ang mga ito? Hindi mo makikita ang kahulugan ng buhay sapagkat kailangan na ikaw mismo ang gumawa nito.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay sapagkat tayo ang gumagawa ng kahulugan ng sarili nating buhay; tayo ang lumilikha ng sarili nating kasaysayan. Tayo ang pumipili ng sarili nating kahulugan. Doktor ka ba? Manggamot ka nang buong husay, sagipin mo ang maraming buhay. Sundalo ka ba? Makipaglaban ka nang buong giting, ialay mo ang buhay mo para sa bayan. Nagsusulat ka ba? Magsulat ka nang buong puso nang magliwanag ang isipan na malabo. Kung ano man ang napili mo’ng gawin, gawin mo ito nang buong galing. Kung umiibig ka naman, umibig ka nang buong tapat at iaalay mo sa iyong sinta ang lahat. Maging mabuti ka sa kanya, mahalin mo s’ya nang higit sa lahat.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay, ‘wag mo itong hanapin sa relihiyon dahil wala ito roon. Panay kaulolan lang ang matutuhan mo sa mga nagbabanal-banalan at nag-aaring ganap, na kung umasta at magsalita akala mo ay kahuntahan nila ang Diyos. Wala rin ito sa pamahalaan at mga lingkod bayan kuno, lalong wala ito sa dami ng yaman.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay tulad sa isang tapayan na walang laman kailangan mo itong sidlan. Hindi bukas kundi ngayon ang panahon ng pagsalok ng kaalaman at karanasan kaya ‘wag mo itong sayangin. Walang kahulugan ang buhay ‘pagkat ang buhay ay isang kawalan na kailangan mo’ng punuan. Tulad ito sa blankong papel na kailangan mo’ng sulatan. Isang hiwaga na kailangan ikaw ang tumuklas. Walang kahulugan ang buhay basahin mo man ang lahat ng aklat at kahit pakinggan mo pa ang lahat ng talumpati sa mundo hindi mo ito makikita.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay ‘wag **** pagurin ang sarili mo sa paghahanap nito. Ang kahulugan ng buhay ay nand’yan sa loob ng puso mo. Kung saan ka maligaya naroon din ito. Aanhin mo ang maraming diploma at pagkilala kung hindi ka naman masaya? Ano’ng saysay ng mga palakpak kung huhupa rin pala ang mga ito? Hindi mo makikita ang kahulugan ng buhay sapagkat kailangan na ikaw mismo ang gumawa nito.