Members
Redding, Ct
Sean Pomposello is a screenwriter, playwright, street photographer and poet who currently writes for A+E Networks. Currently a resident at Project Y Theatre, his many …
Poems
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
a devil's decade
Mateuš Conrad
May 2020
. h'america is as much an ideology as is... islam... this... the best... pig-farmed english you could somehow... not teach... not have mustered from a slav... a pseudo-russian... inconvenience ego... contender? satellite pawn: your... *****-slave yugoslav bourbon... excavations of: the lost flood of mongolian: tribe-folk... the pakistani with the surname: khan... your peoples... prior... no-guilt... island strapped... peruvian conquistadors... or... better strapped... less the cerveza folk... more... the belittled sort of: sorting folk... blah blah...
it's honestly hard to write anything -
when one is still... shell-shocked...
fromwhat could be cited as a devil's decade:
13 years...
from the age of 21
through to: aged 34...
one of those relationship remainders...
we both got into smoking...
well... she was well ahead of me
in the cigarette domain...
no... however i will attire the event...
whatever verbiage...
it doesn't allow a "justice" to trickle down...
it just so happens that i want
to listen to some depeche mode...
and not some tool / porcupine tree...
13 years of smoking... from the nadir of
40 a day... locotomotive breath...
iron on the tongue... phelgm pancakes
harked in the morning from
a tobacco "hangover"...
oscilating around 20 per day...
for some time...
and all it took was a week... 10 days...
and i'm still in possession of 3 cigarettes...
and those two i reserve for the end
of the day ritual...
smoking the first is like:
finding oneself with a belly-full of
a child of gravity...
otherwise: gravity... unless falling...
to look up at the stars and the moon
and the sea: it's something you don't
exactly feel with two feet strapped
to the orb... no movement of
the tectonic plates...
sometimes with *******...
index and middle... of the left hand...
pushed under the right arm-pit...
to feel the pulse of the arteries...
i hardly think this is a call for celebration...
13 years can disappear like...
nothing even took place...
to substitute the habbit with...
reading... playing video games?
nibbling on carrots... nuts...
or just... waiting for the tide to recede...
and for a sea of patience to come
with tomorrow's tide...
all that... and none of it...
at the end of the day... the two cigarettes
are like a metaphor fo crack *******
or syringe strapping imitation
leech...
clear thinking: or therefore none...
no spaghetti muddles...
at best: imitation of biting into ice...
or... stretching a rubber-band until...
well: you can't feel it about to snap...
since it snaps...
a second gravity...
all concentrated in the stomach...
and esp. when the legs have not been
"properly" used up...
but remain tight-and-fidgety with goosebumps
when the ****** of tobacco lines the nerves...
i don't know why i can't celebrate this...
it's such a private event... such an exslusivity...
after all... in linear fashion:
to experience speed... a concentrated
exploration of space... within a hyper-dictum
of time...
in a linear way...
but a second gravity: without falling?
but otherwise whirling in the stomach?
a devil's decade: 13 years...
3 more... otherwise a dozen...
which is only 1 more...
the devil's dozen...
simon peter, andrew, james, john, philip,
bartholomew, matthew, thomas,
james son of alphaeus, simon the zealot,
judas son of james and judas iscariot...
count hey-zeus out of the equation...
there's paul...
and that's what eminem does...
when rapping... on white h'america?
changes the subject - a personal tirade over...
somehow i too link certain aspects...
13 years of...
this... oh so mediocre...
because: clearly... i don't know what
to make of it...
thank god i retained those
two cigarettes at the end of the day...
than have been hooked on nicorette chewing
gum / patches...
or the usual "a.a." support...
support: "support":
help yourself: by every single
and no dead or alive guru...
i really don't have anything
to write...
i'm walking away from
a 13 years of tobacco addiction...
and what i'm really thinking about...
the first thirsts of cold-turkey are long gone...
it's been under a week...
over a week... whatever...
what i'm really thinking about...
well...
how would it feel like...
to farm animals...
how does it feel to... pet animals...
a completely different dynamic...
after all... a farmer would own...
petting-worth animals...
like a cat... for... catching mice...
or a dog... to... warden... sphynx...
cerberus... watch-over the property...
how some would make the dogs
so ferocious... that a chain would
sometimes not be withstanding
to the ferocity of the barking...
eh... it's slightly off-putting...
to pet animals...
when you're being given a factory
edit of the original moo!
or snorkling in knee-deep-**** and mud
and rotten potatoes of pork...
i don't mind... the end product
is what interests me...
the **** is silk? tapeworm ****?!
or there-abouts...
but... it's so much different...
when you... farm animals...
lucky for me... my... somewhat...
immediate family still owned a farm...
and chickens in the yard...
oh yeah... catching a chicken is one thing...
amnesia of the chicken shack...
catch one... sure thing...
then with axe onto the stump...
head sticks to the stump...
last traces of life while the eyes roll back
and the tongue protrudes from the beak...
while... all the other chickens gather...
and start drinking the blood...
a bit like the two tiers of people...
some people must feel inclined to become
these... sociopathic farmers...
there are the humans you herd...
there are the humans you pet...
the ones you pet will probably find about
you herding them...
and rebel... since... you're not...
some gargantuan: ****** obvious...
miracle of a god descent... crown, pomp...
circumstance... all that was borrowed
from god... in splendour... heavens!
lo! behold... versailles was built!
the future charles III of england...
started 8pm today... on classic.fm with his own show...
i tuned in for a minute or two to hear
his voice...
i do hope that when ol' lizzie is dead...
he doesn't cower... he dons! he dons the title:
charles the third!
i ****** well hope... he doesn't become...
no... he can't become: george VII...
formerly known as charles: the prince of wales!
he has to be! charles the third!
he has waited this long!
he has to retain his name!
but that's the beauty of the monarchy...
it's so ******* pompous and omnipresent...
it doesn't hide... in... secular... grey-matter
of deep-state... there are just too many tiers
of power... even though... there's only symbolism...
but a reverence for it: nonetheless!
grey-matter of shadow-people in grey suits!
blinking: for god's sake! blinking black-holes
of hush hush: what was once...
the aristocracy... that's too replaced with...
the burden of crazed-loon bureaucracy!
i've quit smoking... well... "quit"...
2 cigarettes from 20 a day... circa...
is much better than a nicorette patch...
or some: pepperspray tasting chewing gum...
it's not a cigar... if you were asking...
but the original idea...
farming animals...
petting animals...
dogs... the ideal pets...
i'm sorry... i can't put on a leash or a muzzle...
a chihuahua can bite like a piranha...
i don't see the excuses needed to comfort
people afraid of big dogs... alsatians...
dobermans... that's the freedom allowed with cats...
if you get a chance to build their characters...
they will tend to take a dump in your
neighbour's garden...
yes... me... following sherlock feline...
with a black plastic bag and *****...
permission to... be allowed entry into your garden?
or are you... going to trebuchet that ****
back onto my lawn?
dogs or "petting" tarantulas? serpents?
the idea of petting went out of the window...
when... people started to fathom the...
what adjective?! to pet a ******* tarantula...
yes... me... running to the shop that sells
tarantulas... with caption: free tow-twos...
how about you keep that freak-****
in the jungle with all those gimp-suit sexed-up
antics... and i... get to...
farm a chicken... i get to... farm a pig?
no... of course no... although...
who couldn't be teased with latex jill and her
spider annex: library of "misdeeds"
for the library of: hard-ons...
now that you mentioned it... sure... i have a...
pressing concern... how to not...
over-cook pork...
see... pork is a bit like pasta...
you can serve it undercooked like beef...
but... it's also like chicken...
and beef... combined... you don't want
to serve it... overcooked...
only barbarians are fond of well-done beef...
probably arab...
they only stomach well-done steaks
or minced beef...
they have no palette for tartare steaks...
too much inbreeding with stinking lamb
does the trick...
whatever they might say of pork...
the aesthetic meat... leather too... shoes and belts...
lamb? for the slaughter?
eh... stinking puritanical meat worthy
of teacher 'ebrew and righteous son:
mecca ibn sudan.
because... ha ha... it's one thing being racist...
you know... detailing the physiognomy
differences between blacks and whites...
choccies and porky pies...
and the cinnamon people in between...
that's one thing...
it's like everyone was asleep...
the whites were racist...
the only people... ever...
but that's one thing...
i find it harder to digest...
there's no name for it...
kosher-ism... halal-ism?
to be... more racist than racist...
almost a vegan / vegetarian taming...
someone is being critical... of what you eat...
i imagine... malcom x being given a free
pass as a black totem in mecca...
shot dead... when converted... because...
still shuffled pork on the sly...
beside skin deep: please leavde your leather
shoes and belts... lace
beside the concept / concern for the mosque...
racism: morphed into an ideological
manifest...
for a while... let us leave thse
turban and tent dwelling folk
with their newly acquired riches
to the ***** of:
if i am to prepare lamb meat...
i treat it liky chilly...
the meat... stinks of something beside...
death... innocence prescribed...
you are told... wrong...
when ingesting the fruit of eden... somewhat...
these nomads of quasi-sikh turbans
for the women: the niqab girdle-grooms...
their wetted-appetites:
unable to satiate gyrocentrism leftovers...
and... pass from the living...
toward the theatre of the would be alive...
less the circumcised mess: misantrophes...
it's one thing to be chockie...
another to be porky-pink'ish...
but what you eat?
that's... somehow... off-putting?
puritan with some crab-meat
in this numbed jaw?
no one the persians rebelled against
the camel-jockey prescription of:
words only... no images...
pasta squiggles of phonetic encoding...
arabic... tironian a posteriori notations...
then again: one could argue:
tironian a priori notations...
shrimp-**** and eyes that would
resemble... at best... squinting from too much
sun... and at worst... ******* on a lemon...
12" of **** and the twelve-pounder
juicing worth of ***...
her ***...
for me to comment
on the mongol horde esque libido of
the fellow woman of my race...
no... the islamic idea of a heavenly harem...
mind you: it would satisfy her:
if she was to be crowned the juggling act
of three: at least one to compete with
the da vinci sodomites...
to be told you can't eat something...
i'm already a bad joke as:
"bweetish" as it comes...
tucked away with the afro-saxon...
the anglo-slav...
you just have those lips
that look like full-bloom best:
imitation: floral patterns of a ******...
best equipped for *******...
i swim: you sink...
you run... i start an arithmetic of catching
my breath...
the cinnamon people are...
if they are equipped with a polytheism
of the raj... and are saved with
culinary ambitions...
"we'd" call them the blue indians...
and that's also: to mind...
their elder: sanskrit...
पअरउत
र - or how the englishman lost the trill:
rattle-snake R: for rolling...
when he... became: the nuanced... keeper...
vanguard... of the Raj...
perhaps... the anthropomorphic genesis
in africa: givenz zee apulus... apex: gorrilolulz...
but... the sribbles and *******?
india the basin... akapit: paragraph:
the tear of sri lanka...
i.e. so much for me succumbing to the anglican:
we'z all wo'z allz: ex afri-ka'ka'kazia...
oh sure... sure... we... the sensible:
secular post-christians of the protestant wealth
of the west...
happy to afford the dumbed-down
congregations of the newly conscripted...
believers of africa and south h'america...
carrot dangling: run donkey! run!
one of your own: a pope! a cardinal!
poland is still running on that...
remark of... the passing of power...
the first pope to be given status of... saint...
john paul II the saint of:
kissing airport tarmac...
and then of course...
the hyped intricacy of the orthodox branch
of the bureau of hierogylphics and
synonymous litanies...
the events of the baltic sea:
would never be...
the sort of ****-show...
that... the events of the mediterranean sea...
hell... the events of the black sea...
christianity isn't merely dumb...
it's just... over-hyped...
the pork the pork... the pork!
who would require...
a criticism of pork and pig and ms. porky
to suit... alliance...
no matter... i'm on the cusp of quitting
smoking...
we can caricature our physiognomy...
but... how do you... caricature...
what you eat... your... sustenance?
you, black... have a pillow for a nose...
me, white... have a death's lack of...
i don't have a nose...
i have... a death's clench sucker...
i have a pinch nose...
so much for over-inflated lips...
and... my missing... elongated...
myth elves: the protruding ears...
like: no body...
current / the currency of
the now h'america... and the immediacy
of nostalgia: as a history: moving forward /
anywhere but back...
nietzsche opened up a nostalgia for ancient
greece...
h'americans... opening up... a nostalgia...
for 1950s h'america...
how can you write a future history...
from a stand-point / stand-off...
of nostalgia...
this... immediacy of nostalgia...
who's who and who isn't citing...
a richard brautigan... or... a frank o'hara?!
because: there's the sucker and no punch
for the next verse of...
****'s sake... walt whitman?!
o captain! my... john keating...
no... it's not about glorifying
the original intent... mr. president...
the english teacher...
mr.! thomas! bunce!
how can any history be written...
when there's... a nostalgia: impediment...
the hsitory of an immediacy
lacklutered by a past...
the past: however framed...
before... the dead are allowed to
turn and grovel in their graves...
i have 'ere... my gobble-whick of...
pretending: no shadows will
ever exist... at noon...
scrathing... timidy bed-fellows...
loitering squat...
we are to grovel for the cousin
imps and apes of: first born:
english born... navajo...
tortilla...
the old fling of england...
and the spanish...
the conquistadors...
loose nouns dog **** flinging applause:
i fall asleep in a bed:
i welcome the new day...
most... egregious (archaic)...
these western lands...
mmm... they're not very much akin
to our flavour...
that they dictate... refurbishment...
unless it's para-english...
alter- proto- welsh...
kashubian... masovian...
silesian...
kres...
ei hhynnal coch.. and it:
pronouns neutral: does... ****-wit...
gender-fluid-retardo: perfecto...
and i too wish i had...
themes of crusader songs...
but... i have none...
these that i marked...
teutonic knights of no order...
barbarossa being pickled...
livonians... prussians...
lithuanians...
i'm sorry...
that i'm too far away from
you to return to europe
from your: hubris...
in crafting... the...
conscripts: shikhs...
ask the russians! ask the rush-******-whips!
agony of a tongue: beside their own!
the post-colonial powers
return!
the post-colonial powers! make a return!
so much for those of us...
not having... a colonial past!
are we to pay for... such...
benevolent gracing
of gratitude from the people
"made"... under... colonial... rule?!
from the perspective of the strong...
why... am i... expected to treat
these care-bears with...
the right: equipped
manchester shovel?
you spike my drink
or am i... to... simply...
take the right, godly ****...
into all the urns...
the rest of you are to drink from?
i see my forehead glee: akin to my elbow...
and i call that phenomenon:
something benevolent of *****....
yep... not s'unni... but... shyte...
****.. persian: rebellion of camel-jockey...
****'ite... macron i...
dot's the worthy due: guillotine...
echo of the baltic sea...
we somehow: managed...
to lessen the romance...
unlike the english...
the romans conquered:
romanced the ******...
the vikings conquered...
romanced the ******...
the mongols never made it...
nor the huns..
so much for "brexit":
with your lineage of currency...
and your status as an island...
glory! vistory! ******* and all!
because: best felt!
in... places... akin to... devon!
a londoner will abhor someone...
with origins in the vicinity of bristol...
like... because...
there's no other?
n'ah... this night is pretty much worth
all the other nights...
it's worth sleeping...
it's not worth... whatever: leftover...
"worth" of...
this... this "apparent"...
yep... leftover... be...
something for the worth of yale
h'american... or...
dignitary president...
officiated cul de sac executive orders...
it's... such an anglo-saxon fetish for...
*** beside the boudoir...
dodo, lilac... gimp... latex...
dickens...
liberty at:
i feign to allow myself to have... lapsed...
in what? good question...
even i... do not... attempt to baron
myself: over;
pithy... not pity... me...
you god-sucker...
******* ******* son's of eire...
me good-son...
term me: years! under...
the tsarina! *******...
new yawn-ker...
big mouth... no new bullseye...
the same old manchester...
the same ol'...
porky pies...
the same ol' chimneys and:
love's all... at cul de sac:
southend... porky pie munch:
luvvie: ol' guv.
yem: yup... ol' groove.. zzz-tizzle...
smart bruiser:
geezer with a sneeze pops up
at random places and jokes...
retards... lobotomy cruiser...
rhymes like... a cockey...
prior... to... tourettes... the lost...
the last... and what's:
the remains of...
the always... last...
and the worst... told... chalk of joke.
se relationship remainders...
we both got into smoking...
well... she was well ahead of me
in the cigarette domain...
no... however i will attire the event...
whatever verbiage...
it doesn't allow a "justice" to trickle down...
it just so happens that i want
to listen to some depeche mode...
and not some tool / porcupine tree...
13 years of smoking... from the nadir of
40 a day... locotomotive breath...
iron on the tongue... phelgm pancakes
harked in the morning from
a tobacco "hangover"...
oscilating around 20 per day...
for some time...
and all it took was a week... 10 days...
and i'm still in possession of 3 cigarettes...
and those two i reserve for the end
of the day ritual...
smoking the first is like:
finding oneself with a belly-full of
a child of gravity...
otherwise: gravity... unless falling...
to look up at the stars and the moon
and the sea: it's something you don't
exactly feel with two feet strapped
to the orb... no movement of
the tectonic plates...
sometimes with *******...
index and middle... of the left hand...
pushed under the right arm-pit...
to feel the pulse of the arteries...
i hardly think this is a call for celebration...
13 years can disappear like...
nothing even took place...
to substitute the habbit with...
reading... playing video games?
nibbling on carrots... nuts...
or just... waiting for the tide to recede...
and for a sea of patience to come
with tomorrow's tide...
all that... and none of it...
at the end of the day... the two cigarettes
are like a metaphor fo crack *******
or syringe strapping imitation
leech...
clear thinking: or therefore none...
no spaghetti muddles...
at best: imitation of biting into ice...
or... stretching a rubber-band until...
well: you can't feel it about to snap...
since it snaps...
a second gravity...
all concentrated in the stomach...
and esp. when the legs have not been
"properly" used up...
but remain tight-and-fidgety with goosebumps
when the ****** of tobacco lines the nerves...
i don't know why i can't celebrate this...
it's such a private event... such an exslusivity...
after all... in linear fashion:
to experience speed... a concentrated
exploration of space... within a hyper-dictum
of time...
in a linear way...
but a second gravity: without falling?
but otherwise whirling in the stomach?
a devil's decade: 13 years...
3 more... otherwise a dozen...
which is only 1 more...
the devil's dozen...
simon peter, andrew, james, john, philip,
bartholomew, matthew, thomas,
james son of alphaeus, simon the zealot,
judas son of james and judas iscariot...
count hey-zeus out of the equation...
there's paul...
and that's what eminem does...
when rapping... on white h'america?
changes the subject - a personal tirade over...
somehow i too link certain aspects...
13 years of...
this... oh so mediocre...
because: clearly... i don't know what
to make of it...
thank god i retained those
two cigarettes at the end of the day...
than have been hooked on nicorette chewing
gum / patches...
or the usual "a.a." support...
support: "support":
help yourself: by every single
and no dead or alive guru...
i really don't have anything
to write...
i'm walking away from
a 13 years of tobacco addiction...
and what i'm really thinking about...
the first thirsts of cold-turkey are long gone...
it's been under a week...
over a week... whatever...
what i'm really thinking about...
well...
how would it feel like...
to farm animals...
how does it feel to... pet animals...
a completely different dynamic...
after all... a farmer would own...
petting-worth animals...
like a cat... for... catching mice...
or a dog... to... warden... sphynx...
cerberus... watch-over the property...
how some would make the dogs
so ferocious... that a chain would
sometimes not be withstanding
to the ferocity of the barking...
eh... it's slightly off-putting...
to pet animals...
when you're being given a factory
edit of the original moo!
or snorkling in knee-deep-**** and mud
and rotten potatoes of pork...
i don't mind... the end product
is what interests me...
the **** is silk? tapeworm ****?!
or there-abouts...
but... it's so much different...
when you... farm animals...
lucky for me... my... somewhat...
immediate family still owned a farm...
and chickens in the yard...
oh yeah... catching a chicken is one thing...
amnesia of the chicken shack...
catch one... sure thing...
then with axe onto the stump...
head sticks to the stump...
last traces of life while the eyes roll back
and the tongue protrudes from the beak...
while... all the other chickens gather...
and start drinking the blood...
a bit like the two tiers of people...
some people must feel inclined to become
these... sociopathic farmers...
there are the humans you herd...
there are the humans you pet...
the ones you pet will probably find about
you herding them...
and rebel... since... you're not...
some gargantuan: ****** obvious...
miracle of a god descent... crown, pomp...
circumstance... all that was borrowed
from god... in splendour... heavens!
lo! behold... versailles was built!
the future charles III of england...
started 8pm today... on classic.fm with his own show...
i tuned in for a minute or two to hear
his voice...
i do hope that when ol' lizzie is dead...
he doesn't cower... he dons! he dons the title:
charles the third!
i ****** well hope... he doesn't become...
no... he can't become: george VII...
formerly known as charles: the prince of wales!
he has to be! charles the third!
he has waited this long!
he has to retain his name!
but that's the beauty of the monarchy...
it's so ******* pompous and omnipresent...
it doesn't hide... in... secular... grey-matter
of deep-state... there are just too many tiers
of power... even though... there's only symbolism...
but a reverence for it: nonetheless!
grey-matter of shadow-people in grey suits!
blinking: for god's sake! blinking black-holes
of hush hush: what was once...
the aristocracy... that's too replaced with...
the burden of crazed-loon bureaucracy!
i've quit smoking... well... "quit"...
2 cigarettes from 20 a day... circa...
is much better than a nicorette patch...
or some: pepperspray tasting chewing gum...
it's not a cigar... if you were asking...
but the original idea...
farming animals...
petting animals...
dogs... the ideal pets...
i'm sorry... i can't put on a leash or a muzzle...
a chihuahua can bite like a piranha...
i don't see the excuses needed to comfort
people afraid of big dogs... alsatians...
dobermans... that's the freedom allowed with cats...
if you get a chance to build their characters...
they will tend to take a dump in your
neighbour's garden...
yes... me... following sherlock feline...
with a black plastic bag and *****...
permission to... be allowed entry into your garden?
or are you... going to trebuchet that ****
back onto my lawn?
dogs or "petting" tarantulas? serpents?
the idea of petting went out of the window...
when... people started to fathom the...
what adjective?! to pet a ******* tarantula...
yes... me... running to the shop that sells
tarantulas... with caption: free tow-twos...
how about you keep that freak-****
in the jungle with all those gimp-suit sexed-up
antics... and i... get to...
farm a chicken... i get to... farm a pig?
no... of course no... although...
who couldn't be teased with latex jill and her
spider annex: library of "misdeeds"
for the library of: hard-ons...
now that you mentioned it... sure... i have a...
pressing concern... how to not...
over-cook pork...
see... pork is a bit like pasta...
you can serve it undercooked like beef...
but... it's also like chicken...
and beef... combined... you don't want
to serve it... overcooked...
only barbarians are fond of well-done beef...
probably arab...
they only stomach well-done steaks
or minced beef...
they have no palette for tartare steaks...
too much inbreeding with stinking lamb
does the trick...
whatever they might say of pork...
the aesthetic meat... leather too... shoes and belts...
lamb? for the slaughter?
eh... stinking puritanical meat worthy
of teacher 'ebrew and righteous son:
mecca ibn sudan.
because... ha ha... it's one thing being racist...
you know... detailing the physiognomy
differences between blacks and whites...
choccies and porky pies...
and the cinnamon people in between...
that's one thing...
it's like everyone was asleep...
the whites were racist...
the only people... ever...
but that's one thing...
i find it harder to digest...
there's no name for it...
kosher-ism... halal-ism?
to be... more racist than racist...
almost a vegan / vegetarian taming...
someone is being critical... of what you eat...
i imagine... malcom x being given a free
pass as a black totem in mecca...
shot dead... when converted... because...
still shuffled pork on the sly...
beside skin deep: please leavde your leather
shoes and belts... lace
beside the concept / concern for the mosque...
racism: morphed into an ideological
manifest...
for a while... let us leave thse
turban and tent dwelling folk
with their newly acquired riches
to the ***** of:
if i am to prepare lamb meat...
i treat it liky chilly...
the meat... stinks of something beside...
death... innocence prescribed...
you are told... wrong...
when ingesting the fruit of eden... somewhat...
these nomads of quasi-sikh turbans
for the women: the niqab girdle-grooms...
their wetted-appetites:
unable to satiate gyrocentrism leftovers...
and... pass from the living...
toward the theatre of the would be alive...
less the circumcised mess: misantrophes...
it's one thing to be chockie...
another to be porky-pink'ish...
but what you eat?
that's... somehow... off-putting?
puritan with some crab-meat
in this numbed jaw?
no one the persians rebelled against
the camel-jockey prescription of:
words only... no images...
pasta squiggles of phonetic encoding...
arabic... tironian a posteriori notations...
then again: one could argue:
tironian a priori notations...
shrimp-**** and eyes that would
resemble... at best... squinting from too much
sun... and at worst... ******* on a lemon...
12" of **** and the twelve-pounder
juicing worth of ***...
her ***...
for me to comment
on the mongol horde esque libido of
the fellow woman of my race...
no... the islamic idea of a heavenly harem...
mind you: it would satisfy her:
if she was to be crowned the juggling act
of three: at least one to compete with
the da vinci sodomites...
to be told you can't eat something...
i'm already a bad joke as:
"bweetish" as it comes...
tucked away with the afro-saxon...
the anglo-slav...
you just have those lips
that look like full-bloom best:
imitation: floral patterns of a ******...
best equipped for *******...
i swim: you sink...
you run... i start an arithmetic of catching
my breath...
the cinnamon people are...
if they are equipped with a polytheism
of the raj... and are saved with
culinary ambitions...
"we'd" call them the blue indians...
and that's also: to mind...
their elder: sanskrit...
पअरउत
र - or how the englishman lost the trill:
rattle-snake R: for rolling...
when he... became: the nuanced... keeper...
vanguard... of the Raj...
perhaps... the anthropomorphic genesis
in africa: givenz zee apulus... apex: gorrilolulz...
but... the sribbles and *******?
india the basin... akapit: paragraph:
the tear of sri lanka...
i.e. so much for me succumbing to the anglican:
we'z all wo'z allz: ex afri-ka'ka'kazia...
oh sure... sure... we... the sensible:
secular post-christians of the protestant wealth
of the west...
happy to afford the dumbed-down
congregations of the newly conscripted...
believers of africa and south h'america...
carrot dangling: run donkey! run!
one of your own: a pope! a cardinal!
poland is still running on that...
remark of... the passing of power...
the first pope to be given status of... saint...
john paul II the saint of:
kissing airport tarmac...
and then of course...
the hyped intricacy of the orthodox branch
of the bureau of hierogylphics and
synonymous litanies...
the events of the baltic sea:
would never be...
the sort of ****-show...
that... the events of the mediterranean sea...
hell... the events of the black sea...
christianity isn't merely dumb...
it's just... over-hyped...
the pork the pork... the pork!
who would require...
a criticism of pork and pig and ms. porky
to suit... alliance...
no matter... i'm on the cusp of quitting
smoking...
we can caricature our physiognomy...
but... how do you... caricature...
what you eat... your... sustenance?
you, black... have a pillow for a nose...
me, white... have a death's lack of...
i don't have a nose...
i have... a death's clench sucker...
i have a pinch nose...
so much for over-inflated lips...
and... my missing... elongated...
myth elves: the protruding ears...
like: no body...
current / the currency of
the now h'america... and the immediacy
of nostalgia: as a history: moving forward /
anywhere but back...
nietzsche opened up a nostalgia for ancient
greece...
h'americans... opening up... a nostalgia...
for 1950s h'america...
how can you write a future history...
from a stand-point / stand-off...
of nostalgia...
this... immediacy of nostalgia...
who's who and who isn't citing...
a richard brautigan... or... a frank o'hara?!
because: there's the sucker and no punch
for the next verse of...
****'s sake... walt whitman?!
o captain! my... john keating...
no... it's not about glorifying
the original intent... mr. president...
the english teacher...
mr.! thomas! bunce!
how can any history be written...
when there's... a nostalgia: impediment...
the hsitory of an immediacy
lacklutered by a past...
the past: however framed...
before... the dead are allowed to
turn and grovel in their graves...
i have 'ere... my gobble-whick of...
pretending: no shadows will
ever exist... at noon...
scrathing... timidy bed-fellows...
loitering squat...
we are to grovel for the cousin
imps and apes of: first born:
english born... navajo...
tortilla...
the old fling of england...
and the spanish...
the conquistadors...
loose nouns dog **** flinging applause:
i fall asleep in a bed:
i welcome the new day...
most... egregious (archaic)...
these western lands...
mmm... they're not very much akin
to our flavour...
that they dictate... refurbishment...
unless it's para-english...
alter- proto- welsh...
kashubian... masovian...
silesian...
kres...
ei hhynnal coch.. and it:
pronouns neutral: does... ****-wit...
gender-fluid-retardo: perfecto...
and i too wish i had...
themes of crusader songs...
but... i have none...
these that i marked...
teutonic knights of no order...
barbarossa being pickled...
livonians... prussians...
lithuanians...
i'm sorry...
that i'm too far away from
you to return to europe
from your: hubris...
in crafting... the...
conscripts: shikhs...
ask the russians! ask the rush-******-whips!
agony of a tongue: beside their own!
the post-colonial powers
return!
the post-colonial powers! make a return!
so much for those of us...
not having... a colonial past!
are we to pay for... such...
benevolent gracing
of gratitude from the people
"made"... under... colonial... rule?!
from the perspective of the strong...
why... am i... expected to treat
these care-bears with...
the right: equipped
manchester shovel?
you spike my drink
or am i... to... simply...
take the right, godly ****...
into all the urns...
the rest of you are to drink from?
i see my forehead glee: akin to my elbow...
and i call that phenomenon:
something benevolent of *****....
yep... not s'unni... but... shyte...
****.. persian: rebellion of camel-jockey...
****'ite... macron i...
dot's the worthy due: guillotine...
echo of the baltic sea...
we somehow: managed...
to lessen the romance...
unlike the english...
the romans conquered:
romanced the ******...
the vikings conquered...
romanced the ******...
the mongols never made it...
nor the huns..
so much for "brexit":
with your lineage of currency...
and your status as an island...
glory! vistory! ******* and all!
because: best felt!
in... places... akin to... devon!
a londoner will abhor someone...
with origins in the vicinity of bristol...
like... because...
there's no other?
n'ah... this night is pretty much worth
all the other nights...
it's worth sleeping...
it's not worth... whatever: leftover...
"worth" of...
this... this "apparent"...
yep... leftover... be...
something for the worth of yale
h'american... or...
dignitary president...
officiated cul de sac executive orders...
it's... such an anglo-saxon fetish for...
*** beside the boudoir...
dodo, lilac... gimp... latex...
dickens...
liberty at:
i feign to allow myself to have... lapsed...
in what? good question...
even i... do not... attempt to baron
myself: over.
it's honestly hard to write anything -
when one is still... shell-shocked...
fromwhat could be cited as a devil's decade:
13 years...
from the age of 21
through to: aged 34...
one of those relationship remainders...
we both got into smoking...
well... she was well ahead of me
in the cigarette domain...
no... however i will attire the event...
whatever verbiage...
it doesn't allow a "justice" to trickle down...
it just so happens that i want
to listen to some depeche mode...
and not some tool / porcupine tree...
13 years of smoking... from the nadir of
40 a day... locotomotive breath...
iron on the tongue... phelgm pancakes
harked in the morning from
a tobacco "hangover"...
oscilating around 20 per day...
for some time...
and all it took was a week... 10 days...
and i'm still in possession of 3 cigarettes...
and those two i reserve for the end
of the day ritual...
smoking the first is like:
finding oneself with a belly-full of
a child of gravity...
otherwise: gravity... unless falling...
to look up at the stars and the moon
and the sea: it's something you don't
exactly feel with two feet strapped
to the orb... no movement of
the tectonic plates...
sometimes with *******...
index and middle... of the left hand...
pushed under the right arm-pit...
to feel the pulse of the arteries...
i hardly think this is a call for celebration...
13 years can disappear like...
nothing even took place...
to substitute the habbit with...
reading... playing video games?
nibbling on carrots... nuts...
or just... waiting for the tide to recede...
and for a sea of patience to come
with tomorrow's tide...
all that... and none of it...
at the end of the day... the two cigarettes
are like a metaphor fo crack *******
or syringe strapping imitation
leech...
clear thinking: or therefore none...
no spaghetti muddles...
at best: imitation of biting into ice...
or... stretching a rubber-band until...
well: you can't feel it about to snap...
since it snaps...
a second gravity...
all concentrated in the stomach...
and esp. when the legs have not been
"properly" used up...
but remain tight-and-fidgety with goosebumps
when the ****** of tobacco lines the nerves...
i don't know why i can't celebrate this...
it's such a private event... such an exslusivity...
after all... in linear fashion:
to experience speed... a concentrated
exploration of space... within a hyper-dictum
of time...
in a linear way...
but a second gravity: without falling?
but otherwise whirling in the stomach?
a devil's decade: 13 years...
3 more... otherwise a dozen...
which is only 1 more...
the devil's dozen...
simon peter, andrew, james, john, philip,
bartholomew, matthew, thomas,
james son of alphaeus, simon the zealot,
judas son of james and judas iscariot...
count hey-zeus out of the equation...
there's paul...
and that's what eminem does...
when rapping... on white h'america?
changes the subject - a personal tirade over...
somehow i too link certain aspects...
13 years of...
this... oh so mediocre...
because: clearly... i don't know what
to make of it...
thank god i retained those
two cigarettes at the end of the day...
than have been hooked on nicorette chewing
gum / patches...
or the usual "a.a." support...
support: "support":
help yourself: by every single
and no dead or alive guru...
i really don't have anything
to write...
i'm walking away from
a 13 years of tobacco addiction...
and what i'm really thinking about...
the first thirsts of cold-turkey are long gone...
it's been under a week...
over a week... whatever...
what i'm really thinking about...
well...
how would it feel like...
to farm animals...
how does it feel to... pet animals...
a completely different dynamic...
after all... a farmer would own...
petting-worth animals...
like a cat... for... catching mice...
or a dog... to... warden... sphynx...
cerberus... watch-over the property...
how some would make the dogs
so ferocious... that a chain would
sometimes not be withstanding
to the ferocity of the barking...
eh... it's slightly off-putting...
to pet animals...
when you're being given a factory
edit of the original moo!
or snorkling in knee-deep-**** and mud
and rotten potatoes of pork...
i don't mind... the end product
is what interests me...
the **** is silk? tapeworm ****?!
or there-abouts...
but... it's so much different...
when you... farm animals...
lucky for me... my... somewhat...
immediate family still owned a farm...
and chickens in the yard...
oh yeah... catching a chicken is one thing...
amnesia of the chicken shack...
catch one... sure thing...
then with axe onto the stump...
head sticks to the stump...
last traces of life while the eyes roll back
and the tongue protrudes from the beak...
while... all the other chickens gather...
and start drinking the blood...
a bit like the two tiers of people...
some people must feel inclined to become
these... sociopathic farmers...
there are the humans you herd...
there are the humans you pet...
the ones you pet will probably find about
you herding them...
and rebel... since... you're not...
some gargantuan: ****** obvious...
miracle of a god descent... crown, pomp...
circumstance... all that was borrowed
from god... in splendour... heavens!
lo! behold... versailles was built!
the future charles III of england...
started 8pm today... on classic.fm with his own show...
i tuned in for a minute or two to hear
his voice...
i do hope that when ol' lizzie is dead...
he doesn't cower... he dons! he dons the title:
charles the third!
i ****** well hope... he doesn't become...
no... he can't become: george VII...
formerly known as charles: the prince of wales!
he has to be! charles the third!
he has waited this long!
he has to retain his name!
but that's the beauty of the monarchy...
it's so ******* pompous and omnipresent...
it doesn't hide... in... secular... grey-matter
of deep-state... there are just too many tiers
of power... even though... there's only symbolism...
but a reverence for it: nonetheless!
grey-matter of shadow-people in grey suits!
blinking: for god's sake! blinking black-holes
of hush hush: what was once...
the aristocracy... that's too replaced with...
the burden of crazed-loon bureaucracy!
i've quit smoking... well... "quit"...
2 cigarettes from 20 a day... circa...
is much better than a nicorette patch...
or some: pepperspray tasting chewing gum...
it's not a cigar... if you were asking...
but the original idea...
farming animals...
petting animals...
dogs... the ideal pets...
i'm sorry... i can't put on a leash or a muzzle...
a chihuahua can bite like a piranha...
i don't see the excuses needed to comfort
people afraid of big dogs... alsatians...
dobermans... that's the freedom allowed with cats...
if you get a chance to build their characters...
they will tend to take a dump in your
neighbour's garden...
yes... me... following sherlock feline...
with a black plastic bag and *****...
permission to... be allowed entry into your garden?
or are you... going to trebuchet that ****
back onto my lawn?
dogs or "petting" tarantulas? serpents?
the idea of petting went out of the window...
when... people started to fathom the...
what adjective?! to pet a ******* tarantula...
yes... me... running to the shop that sells
tarantulas... with caption: free tow-twos...
how about you keep that freak-****
in the jungle with all those gimp-suit sexed-up
antics... and i... get to...
farm a chicken... i get to... farm a pig?
no... of course no... although...
who couldn't be teased with latex jill and her
spider annex: library of "misdeeds"
for the library of: hard-ons...
now that you mentioned it... sure... i have a...
pressing concern... how to not...
over-cook pork...
see... pork is a bit like pasta...
you can serve it undercooked like beef...
but... it's also like chicken...
and beef... combined... you don't want
to serve it... overcooked...
only barbarians are fond of well-done beef...
probably arab...
they only stomach well-done steaks
or minced beef...
they have no palette for tartare steaks...
too much inbreeding with stinking lamb
does the trick...
whatever they might say of pork...
the aesthetic meat... leather too... shoes and belts...
lamb? for the slaughter?
eh... stinking puritanical meat worthy
of teacher 'ebrew and righteous son:
mecca ibn sudan.
because... ha ha... it's one thing being racist...
you know... detailing the physiognomy
differences between blacks and whites...
choccies and porky pies...
and the cinnamon people in between...
that's one thing...
it's like everyone was asleep...
the whites were racist...
the only people... ever...
but that's one thing...
i find it harder to digest...
there's no name for it...
kosher-ism... halal-ism?
to be... more racist than racist...
almost a vegan / vegetarian taming...
someone is being critical... of what you eat...
i imagine... malcom x being given a free
pass as a black totem in mecca...
shot dead... when converted... because...
still shuffled pork on the sly...
beside skin deep: please leavde your leather
shoes and belts... lace
beside the concept / concern for the mosque...
racism: morphed into an ideological
manifest...
for a while... let us leave thse
turban and tent dwelling folk
with their newly acquired riches
to the ***** of:
if i am to prepare lamb meat...
i treat it liky chilly...
the meat... stinks of something beside...
death... innocence prescribed...
you are told... wrong...
when ingesting the fruit of eden... somewhat...
these nomads of quasi-sikh turbans
for the women: the niqab girdle-grooms...
their wetted-appetites:
unable to satiate gyrocentrism leftovers...
and... pass from the living...
toward the theatre of the would be alive...
less the circumcised mess: misantrophes...
it's one thing to be chockie...
another to be porky-pink'ish...
but what you eat?
that's... somehow... off-putting?
puritan with some crab-meat
in this numbed jaw?
no one the persians rebelled against
the camel-jockey prescription of:
words only... no images...
pasta squiggles of phonetic encoding...
arabic... tironian a posteriori notations...
then again: one could argue:
tironian a priori notations...
shrimp-**** and eyes that would
resemble... at best... squinting from too much
sun... and at worst... ******* on a lemon...
12" of **** and the twelve-pounder
juicing worth of ***...
her ***...
for me to comment
on the mongol horde esque libido of
the fellow woman of my race...
no... the islamic idea of a heavenly harem...
mind you: it would satisfy her:
if she was to be crowned the juggling act
of three: at least one to compete with
the da vinci sodomites...
to be told you can't eat something...
i'm already a bad joke as:
"bweetish" as it comes...
tucked away with the afro-saxon...
the anglo-slav...
you just have those lips
that look like full-bloom best:
imitation: floral patterns of a ******...
best equipped for *******...
i swim: you sink...
you run... i start an arithmetic of catching
my breath...
the cinnamon people are...
if they are equipped with a polytheism
of the raj... and are saved with
culinary ambitions...
"we'd" call them the blue indians...
and that's also: to mind...
their elder: sanskrit...
पअरउत
र - or how the englishman lost the trill:
rattle-snake R: for rolling...
when he... became: the nuanced... keeper...
vanguard... of the Raj...
perhaps... the anthropomorphic genesis
in africa: givenz zee apulus... apex: gorrilolulz...
but... the sribbles and *******?
india the basin... akapit: paragraph:
the tear of sri lanka...
i.e. so much for me succumbing to the anglican:
we'z all wo'z allz: ex afri-ka'ka'kazia...
oh sure... sure... we... the sensible:
secular post-christians of the protestant wealth
of the west...
happy to afford the dumbed-down
congregations of the newly conscripted...
believers of africa and south h'america...
carrot dangling: run donkey! run!
one of your own: a pope! a cardinal!
poland is still running on that...
remark of... the passing of power...
the first pope to be given status of... saint...
john paul II the saint of:
kissing airport tarmac...
and then of course...
the hyped intricacy of the orthodox branch
of the bureau of hierogylphics and
synonymous litanies...
the events of the baltic sea:
would never be...
the sort of ****-show...
that... the events of the mediterranean sea...
hell... the events of the black sea...
christianity isn't merely dumb...
it's just... over-hyped...
the pork the pork... the pork!
who would require...
a criticism of pork and pig and ms. porky
to suit... alliance...
no matter... i'm on the cusp of quitting
smoking...
we can caricature our physiognomy...
but... how do you... caricature...
what you eat... your... sustenance?
you, black... have a pillow for a nose...
me, white... have a death's lack of...
i don't have a nose...
i have... a death's clench sucker...
i have a pinch nose...
so much for over-inflated lips...
and... my missing... elongated...
myth elves: the protruding ears...
like: no body...
current / the currency of
the now h'america... and the immediacy
of nostalgia: as a history: moving forward /
anywhere but back...
nietzsche opened up a nostalgia for ancient
greece...
h'americans... opening up... a nostalgia...
for 1950s h'america...
how can you write a future history...
from a stand-point / stand-off...
of nostalgia...
this... immediacy of nostalgia...
who's who and who isn't citing...
a richard brautigan... or... a frank o'hara?!
because: there's the sucker and no punch
for the next verse of...
****'s sake... walt whitman?!
o captain! my... john keating...
no... it's not about glorifying
the original intent... mr. president...
the english teacher...
mr.! thomas! bunce!
how can any history be written...
when there's... a nostalgia: impediment...
the hsitory of an immediacy
lacklutered by a past...
the past: however framed...
before... the dead are allowed to
turn and grovel in their graves...
i have 'ere... my gobble-whick of...
pretending: no shadows will
ever exist... at noon...
scrathing... timidy bed-fellows...
loitering squat...
we are to grovel for the cousin
imps and apes of: first born:
english born... navajo...
tortilla...
the old fling of england...
and the spanish...
the conquistadors...
loose nouns dog **** flinging applause:
i fall asleep in a bed:
i welcome the new day...
most... egregious (archaic)...
these western lands...
mmm... they're not very much akin
to our flavour...
that they dictate... refurbishment...
unless it's para-english...
alter- proto- welsh...
kashubian... masovian...
silesian...
kres...
ei hhynnal coch.. and it:
pronouns neutral: does... ****-wit...
gender-fluid-retardo: perfecto...
and i too wish i had...
themes of crusader songs...
but... i have none...
these that i marked...
teutonic knights of no order...
barbarossa being pickled...
livonians... prussians...
lithuanians...
i'm sorry...
that i'm too far away from
you to return to europe
from your: hubris...
in crafting... the...
conscripts: shikhs...
ask the russians! ask the rush-******-whips!
agony of a tongue: beside their own!
the post-colonial powers
return!
the post-colonial powers! make a return!
so much for those of us...
not having... a colonial past!
are we to pay for... such...
benevolent gracing
of gratitude from the people
"made"... under... colonial... rule?!
from the perspective of the strong...
why... am i... expected to treat
these care-bears with...
the right: equipped
manchester shovel?
you spike my drink
or am i... to... simply...
take the right, godly ****...
into all the urns...
the rest of you are to drink from?
i see my forehead glee: akin to my elbow...
and i call that phenomenon:
something benevolent of *****....
yep... not s'unni... but... shyte...
****.. persian: rebellion of camel-jockey...
****'ite... macron i...
dot's the worthy due: guillotine...
echo of the baltic sea...
we somehow: managed...
to lessen the romance...
unlike the english...
the romans conquered:
romanced the ******...
the vikings conquered...
romanced the ******...
the mongols never made it...
nor the huns..
so much for "brexit":
with your lineage of currency...
and your status as an island...
glory! vistory! ******* and all!
because: best felt!
in... places... akin to... devon!
a londoner will abhor someone...
with origins in the vicinity of bristol...
like... because...
there's no other?
n'ah... this night is pretty much worth
all the other nights...
it's worth sleeping...
it's not worth... whatever: leftover...
"worth" of...
this... this "apparent"...
yep... leftover... be...
something for the worth of yale
h'american... or...
dignitary president...
officiated cul de sac executive orders...
it's... such an anglo-saxon fetish for...
*** beside the boudoir...
dodo, lilac... gimp... latex...
dickens...
liberty at:
i feign to allow myself to have... lapsed...
in what? good question...
even i... do not... attempt to baron
myself: over;
pithy... not pity... me...
you god-sucker...
******* ******* son's of eire...
me good-son...
term me: years! under...
the tsarina! *******...
new yawn-ker...
big mouth... no new bullseye...
the same old manchester...
the same ol'...
porky pies...
the same ol' chimneys and:
love's all... at cul de sac:
southend... porky pie munch:
luvvie: ol' guv.
yem: yup... ol' groove.. zzz-tizzle...
smart bruiser:
geezer with a sneeze pops up
at random places and jokes...
retards... lobotomy cruiser...
rhymes like... a cockey...
prior... to... tourettes... the lost...
the last... and what's:
the remains of...
the always... last...
and the worst... told... chalk of joke.
se relationship remainders...
we both got into smoking...
well... she was well ahead of me
in the cigarette domain...
no... however i will attire the event...
whatever verbiage...
it doesn't allow a "justice" to trickle down...
it just so happens that i want
to listen to some depeche mode...
and not some tool / porcupine tree...
13 years of smoking... from the nadir of
40 a day... locotomotive breath...
iron on the tongue... phelgm pancakes
harked in the morning from
a tobacco "hangover"...
oscilating around 20 per day...
for some time...
and all it took was a week... 10 days...
and i'm still in possession of 3 cigarettes...
and those two i reserve for the end
of the day ritual...
smoking the first is like:
finding oneself with a belly-full of
a child of gravity...
otherwise: gravity... unless falling...
to look up at the stars and the moon
and the sea: it's something you don't
exactly feel with two feet strapped
to the orb... no movement of
the tectonic plates...
sometimes with *******...
index and middle... of the left hand...
pushed under the right arm-pit...
to feel the pulse of the arteries...
i hardly think this is a call for celebration...
13 years can disappear like...
nothing even took place...
to substitute the habbit with...
reading... playing video games?
nibbling on carrots... nuts...
or just... waiting for the tide to recede...
and for a sea of patience to come
with tomorrow's tide...
all that... and none of it...
at the end of the day... the two cigarettes
are like a metaphor fo crack *******
or syringe strapping imitation
leech...
clear thinking: or therefore none...
no spaghetti muddles...
at best: imitation of biting into ice...
or... stretching a rubber-band until...
well: you can't feel it about to snap...
since it snaps...
a second gravity...
all concentrated in the stomach...
and esp. when the legs have not been
"properly" used up...
but remain tight-and-fidgety with goosebumps
when the ****** of tobacco lines the nerves...
i don't know why i can't celebrate this...
it's such a private event... such an exslusivity...
after all... in linear fashion:
to experience speed... a concentrated
exploration of space... within a hyper-dictum
of time...
in a linear way...
but a second gravity: without falling?
but otherwise whirling in the stomach?
a devil's decade: 13 years...
3 more... otherwise a dozen...
which is only 1 more...
the devil's dozen...
simon peter, andrew, james, john, philip,
bartholomew, matthew, thomas,
james son of alphaeus, simon the zealot,
judas son of james and judas iscariot...
count hey-zeus out of the equation...
there's paul...
and that's what eminem does...
when rapping... on white h'america?
changes the subject - a personal tirade over...
somehow i too link certain aspects...
13 years of...
this... oh so mediocre...
because: clearly... i don't know what
to make of it...
thank god i retained those
two cigarettes at the end of the day...
than have been hooked on nicorette chewing
gum / patches...
or the usual "a.a." support...
support: "support":
help yourself: by every single
and no dead or alive guru...
i really don't have anything
to write...
i'm walking away from
a 13 years of tobacco addiction...
and what i'm really thinking about...
the first thirsts of cold-turkey are long gone...
it's been under a week...
over a week... whatever...
what i'm really thinking about...
well...
how would it feel like...
to farm animals...
how does it feel to... pet animals...
a completely different dynamic...
after all... a farmer would own...
petting-worth animals...
like a cat... for... catching mice...
or a dog... to... warden... sphynx...
cerberus... watch-over the property...
how some would make the dogs
so ferocious... that a chain would
sometimes not be withstanding
to the ferocity of the barking...
eh... it's slightly off-putting...
to pet animals...
when you're being given a factory
edit of the original moo!
or snorkling in knee-deep-**** and mud
and rotten potatoes of pork...
i don't mind... the end product
is what interests me...
the **** is silk? tapeworm ****?!
or there-abouts...
but... it's so much different...
when you... farm animals...
lucky for me... my... somewhat...
immediate family still owned a farm...
and chickens in the yard...
oh yeah... catching a chicken is one thing...
amnesia of the chicken shack...
catch one... sure thing...
then with axe onto the stump...
head sticks to the stump...
last traces of life while the eyes roll back
and the tongue protrudes from the beak...
while... all the other chickens gather...
and start drinking the blood...
a bit like the two tiers of people...
some people must feel inclined to become
these... sociopathic farmers...
there are the humans you herd...
there are the humans you pet...
the ones you pet will probably find about
you herding them...
and rebel... since... you're not...
some gargantuan: ****** obvious...
miracle of a god descent... crown, pomp...
circumstance... all that was borrowed
from god... in splendour... heavens!
lo! behold... versailles was built!
the future charles III of england...
started 8pm today... on classic.fm with his own show...
i tuned in for a minute or two to hear
his voice...
i do hope that when ol' lizzie is dead...
he doesn't cower... he dons! he dons the title:
charles the third!
i ****** well hope... he doesn't become...
no... he can't become: george VII...
formerly known as charles: the prince of wales!
he has to be! charles the third!
he has waited this long!
he has to retain his name!
but that's the beauty of the monarchy...
it's so ******* pompous and omnipresent...
it doesn't hide... in... secular... grey-matter
of deep-state... there are just too many tiers
of power... even though... there's only symbolism...
but a reverence for it: nonetheless!
grey-matter of shadow-people in grey suits!
blinking: for god's sake! blinking black-holes
of hush hush: what was once...
the aristocracy... that's too replaced with...
the burden of crazed-loon bureaucracy!
i've quit smoking... well... "quit"...
2 cigarettes from 20 a day... circa...
is much better than a nicorette patch...
or some: pepperspray tasting chewing gum...
it's not a cigar... if you were asking...
but the original idea...
farming animals...
petting animals...
dogs... the ideal pets...
i'm sorry... i can't put on a leash or a muzzle...
a chihuahua can bite like a piranha...
i don't see the excuses needed to comfort
people afraid of big dogs... alsatians...
dobermans... that's the freedom allowed with cats...
if you get a chance to build their characters...
they will tend to take a dump in your
neighbour's garden...
yes... me... following sherlock feline...
with a black plastic bag and *****...
permission to... be allowed entry into your garden?
or are you... going to trebuchet that ****
back onto my lawn?
dogs or "petting" tarantulas? serpents?
the idea of petting went out of the window...
when... people started to fathom the...
what adjective?! to pet a ******* tarantula...
yes... me... running to the shop that sells
tarantulas... with caption: free tow-twos...
how about you keep that freak-****
in the jungle with all those gimp-suit sexed-up
antics... and i... get to...
farm a chicken... i get to... farm a pig?
no... of course no... although...
who couldn't be teased with latex jill and her
spider annex: library of "misdeeds"
for the library of: hard-ons...
now that you mentioned it... sure... i have a...
pressing concern... how to not...
over-cook pork...
see... pork is a bit like pasta...
you can serve it undercooked like beef...
but... it's also like chicken...
and beef... combined... you don't want
to serve it... overcooked...
only barbarians are fond of well-done beef...
probably arab...
they only stomach well-done steaks
or minced beef...
they have no palette for tartare steaks...
too much inbreeding with stinking lamb
does the trick...
whatever they might say of pork...
the aesthetic meat... leather too... shoes and belts...
lamb? for the slaughter?
eh... stinking puritanical meat worthy
of teacher 'ebrew and righteous son:
mecca ibn sudan.
because... ha ha... it's one thing being racist...
you know... detailing the physiognomy
differences between blacks and whites...
choccies and porky pies...
and the cinnamon people in between...
that's one thing...
it's like everyone was asleep...
the whites were racist...
the only people... ever...
but that's one thing...
i find it harder to digest...
there's no name for it...
kosher-ism... halal-ism?
to be... more racist than racist...
almost a vegan / vegetarian taming...
someone is being critical... of what you eat...
i imagine... malcom x being given a free
pass as a black totem in mecca...
shot dead... when converted... because...
still shuffled pork on the sly...
beside skin deep: please leavde your leather
shoes and belts... lace
beside the concept / concern for the mosque...
racism: morphed into an ideological
manifest...
for a while... let us leave thse
turban and tent dwelling folk
with their newly acquired riches
to the ***** of:
if i am to prepare lamb meat...
i treat it liky chilly...
the meat... stinks of something beside...
death... innocence prescribed...
you are told... wrong...
when ingesting the fruit of eden... somewhat...
these nomads of quasi-sikh turbans
for the women: the niqab girdle-grooms...
their wetted-appetites:
unable to satiate gyrocentrism leftovers...
and... pass from the living...
toward the theatre of the would be alive...
less the circumcised mess: misantrophes...
it's one thing to be chockie...
another to be porky-pink'ish...
but what you eat?
that's... somehow... off-putting?
puritan with some crab-meat
in this numbed jaw?
no one the persians rebelled against
the camel-jockey prescription of:
words only... no images...
pasta squiggles of phonetic encoding...
arabic... tironian a posteriori notations...
then again: one could argue:
tironian a priori notations...
shrimp-**** and eyes that would
resemble... at best... squinting from too much
sun... and at worst... ******* on a lemon...
12" of **** and the twelve-pounder
juicing worth of ***...
her ***...
for me to comment
on the mongol horde esque libido of
the fellow woman of my race...
no... the islamic idea of a heavenly harem...
mind you: it would satisfy her:
if she was to be crowned the juggling act
of three: at least one to compete with
the da vinci sodomites...
to be told you can't eat something...
i'm already a bad joke as:
"bweetish" as it comes...
tucked away with the afro-saxon...
the anglo-slav...
you just have those lips
that look like full-bloom best:
imitation: floral patterns of a ******...
best equipped for *******...
i swim: you sink...
you run... i start an arithmetic of catching
my breath...
the cinnamon people are...
if they are equipped with a polytheism
of the raj... and are saved with
culinary ambitions...
"we'd" call them the blue indians...
and that's also: to mind...
their elder: sanskrit...
पअरउत
र - or how the englishman lost the trill:
rattle-snake R: for rolling...
when he... became: the nuanced... keeper...
vanguard... of the Raj...
perhaps... the anthropomorphic genesis
in africa: givenz zee apulus... apex: gorrilolulz...
but... the sribbles and *******?
india the basin... akapit: paragraph:
the tear of sri lanka...
i.e. so much for me succumbing to the anglican:
we'z all wo'z allz: ex afri-ka'ka'kazia...
oh sure... sure... we... the sensible:
secular post-christians of the protestant wealth
of the west...
happy to afford the dumbed-down
congregations of the newly conscripted...
believers of africa and south h'america...
carrot dangling: run donkey! run!
one of your own: a pope! a cardinal!
poland is still running on that...
remark of... the passing of power...
the first pope to be given status of... saint...
john paul II the saint of:
kissing airport tarmac...
and then of course...
the hyped intricacy of the orthodox branch
of the bureau of hierogylphics and
synonymous litanies...
the events of the baltic sea:
would never be...
the sort of ****-show...
that... the events of the mediterranean sea...
hell... the events of the black sea...
christianity isn't merely dumb...
it's just... over-hyped...
the pork the pork... the pork!
who would require...
a criticism of pork and pig and ms. porky
to suit... alliance...
no matter... i'm on the cusp of quitting
smoking...
we can caricature our physiognomy...
but... how do you... caricature...
what you eat... your... sustenance?
you, black... have a pillow for a nose...
me, white... have a death's lack of...
i don't have a nose...
i have... a death's clench sucker...
i have a pinch nose...
so much for over-inflated lips...
and... my missing... elongated...
myth elves: the protruding ears...
like: no body...
current / the currency of
the now h'america... and the immediacy
of nostalgia: as a history: moving forward /
anywhere but back...
nietzsche opened up a nostalgia for ancient
greece...
h'americans... opening up... a nostalgia...
for 1950s h'america...
how can you write a future history...
from a stand-point / stand-off...
of nostalgia...
this... immediacy of nostalgia...
who's who and who isn't citing...
a richard brautigan... or... a frank o'hara?!
because: there's the sucker and no punch
for the next verse of...
****'s sake... walt whitman?!
o captain! my... john keating...
no... it's not about glorifying
the original intent... mr. president...
the english teacher...
mr.! thomas! bunce!
how can any history be written...
when there's... a nostalgia: impediment...
the hsitory of an immediacy
lacklutered by a past...
the past: however framed...
before... the dead are allowed to
turn and grovel in their graves...
i have 'ere... my gobble-whick of...
pretending: no shadows will
ever exist... at noon...
scrathing... timidy bed-fellows...
loitering squat...
we are to grovel for the cousin
imps and apes of: first born:
english born... navajo...
tortilla...
the old fling of england...
and the spanish...
the conquistadors...
loose nouns dog **** flinging applause:
i fall asleep in a bed:
i welcome the new day...
most... egregious (archaic)...
these western lands...
mmm... they're not very much akin
to our flavour...
that they dictate... refurbishment...
unless it's para-english...
alter- proto- welsh...
kashubian... masovian...
silesian...
kres...
ei hhynnal coch.. and it:
pronouns neutral: does... ****-wit...
gender-fluid-retardo: perfecto...
and i too wish i had...
themes of crusader songs...
but... i have none...
these that i marked...
teutonic knights of no order...
barbarossa being pickled...
livonians... prussians...
lithuanians...
i'm sorry...
that i'm too far away from
you to return to europe
from your: hubris...
in crafting... the...
conscripts: shikhs...
ask the russians! ask the rush-******-whips!
agony of a tongue: beside their own!
the post-colonial powers
return!
the post-colonial powers! make a return!
so much for those of us...
not having... a colonial past!
are we to pay for... such...
benevolent gracing
of gratitude from the people
"made"... under... colonial... rule?!
from the perspective of the strong...
why... am i... expected to treat
these care-bears with...
the right: equipped
manchester shovel?
you spike my drink
or am i... to... simply...
take the right, godly ****...
into all the urns...
the rest of you are to drink from?
i see my forehead glee: akin to my elbow...
and i call that phenomenon:
something benevolent of *****....
yep... not s'unni... but... shyte...
****.. persian: rebellion of camel-jockey...
****'ite... macron i...
dot's the worthy due: guillotine...
echo of the baltic sea...
we somehow: managed...
to lessen the romance...
unlike the english...
the romans conquered:
romanced the ******...
the vikings conquered...
romanced the ******...
the mongols never made it...
nor the huns..
so much for "brexit":
with your lineage of currency...
and your status as an island...
glory! vistory! ******* and all!
because: best felt!
in... places... akin to... devon!
a londoner will abhor someone...
with origins in the vicinity of bristol...
like... because...
there's no other?
n'ah... this night is pretty much worth
all the other nights...
it's worth sleeping...
it's not worth... whatever: leftover...
"worth" of...
this... this "apparent"...
yep... leftover... be...
something for the worth of yale
h'american... or...
dignitary president...
officiated cul de sac executive orders...
it's... such an anglo-saxon fetish for...
*** beside the boudoir...
dodo, lilac... gimp... latex...
dickens...
liberty at:
i feign to allow myself to have... lapsed...
in what? good question...
even i... do not... attempt to baron
myself: over.
James Bradley McCallum
Nov 2013
Staff Sgt. Joseph D'Augustine
a proud Jersey son
whom Thou hast blessed
laid in St. Luke’s ground
for his heavenly rest
April 4, 2012
1.
in a far off province of
God forsaken Helmand,
our dear son Joey
met his untimely end
an explosive crack
a most terrible sound
felled a beloved Jersey son
to the cold cruel ground
working the live wires
of a well placed IED
a deathly burst killed him
it was awful to see
Staff Sgt. Joseph D’Augustine
in solemn duty fell
fellow brothers in arms
will forever reverently tell
of courage and character
of a dear fallen friend
and how the valiant warrior
met with death at his end
for he was always faithful
to his beloved corps
comrades couldn't ask
a valiant marine for more
2.
details of his death
are not the real story
selflessness and bravery
are but part of his glory
is it brash to
question why he fell?
in a useless bitter war
an embroiled senseless hell
a generation mustered
to fight in the war on terror
serving four tours of duty
in a lost decade of errors
two tours in Afghanistan and Iraq
could a nation ask a man for more?
for he was always faithful to the call
upholding pledges he hath sworn
3.
the burden of war
to a few confined
it rarely crosses
an American’s mind
incessant war machine
drones on apace
the horror of conflict
so cleverly displaced
with afternoon baseball
and super bowl parties
big disco paychecks
and other selfish priorities
pay hollow tribute
to dear weary troops
when valor is mentioned
we gather in groups
we’ll raise the flag
sing stirring anthems
than its back to the party
pay it no more attention
self styled patriots
wave handfuls of flags
but ask them to contribute
the zeal soon lags
its left to the few
to shoulder burdens of many
fairness is lost
its a democratic calamity
four tours in a decade
an inhumane task
burdens require sharing
its only fair to ask
Joey was always faithful
to the task at hand
willing to step forward
to serve his homeland
4.
in the wake of 9/11
a nation deeply shaken
young patriots stirred
liberty’s call not forsaken
a call to serve answered
to quell the rise of terror
a clear clarion alarm
marks the nature of the era
Joey boldly came forward
to train and learn
the art of warriors
his bright patriotism burned
deployed to Afghanistan
to capture Osama
routing the Taliban
without much problem
but a pacified Afghan
not enough for Bush
he invaded Iraq
another military push
we rolled into Baghdad
adorned with victors garlands
Saddam’s statue toppled
our troops were honored
deposing a dictators
soon turned to occupation
a ****** mission transformed
to build the Iraqi and Afghan nations
once honored liberators
now a conquering force
bestriding broken nations
on a civil war course
military industrialists
stood to profit most
sweet protracted conflict
record earnings to boast
lives bartered for lucre
a region held hostage
the conflict deepened
hostilities hardened
America dipped into
a great recession
the war machine
bled money and
kept on ticking
scooping up contracts
rewarding investors
the dividends of war
heaven sent treasure
continuation of hostilities
preys on a nation's youth
as casualties mount
ill portents forsoothed
a fraction of citizens
bare heartaches of war
gulping measures of despair
to guard a nations door
a nation always faithful
to the holy pursuit of profit
a highest citizens calling
put money into your pocket
5.
our beloved Jersey son
gave a full measure of devotion
in dress blues they shipped him
back across the ocean
on the Dover tarmac
they received his remains
for a last ride northward
to his hometown terrain
repatriated body
bereft of soul saluted
solemn escort knelt
hearts trembled, tears muted
a hearse for a gallant man
flanked by state troop cruisers
to escort the funeral train
assure an honored movement
one last trip up
old thunder road
the storied highway
Joey often trod
the last detail legged up 17
reverent firefighters saluted
from overpasses
to honor the woeful scene
as the motorcade passed
the Garden State Malls
frenzied consumers
failed to notice at all
busy window shoppers
didn't to turn an eye
as Joey rolled home
to the sweet by and by
vets interred at the
Old Paramus Church
gently stirred in their graves
reasons for war they search
Channel 12 Chopper
circled its eye in the sky
televised the sad parade
captured many teary eyes
the early spring blooms
colorful petals displayed
maples and forsythias
a royal carpet laid
spring remains always faithful
as the new season turns
offer sunshine and glory
as our sinking hearts burn
6.
motorcycle escort
northbound lane clear
rolling homeward
Waldwick was near
leaves exploding
green shoots budding
****** white maple blooms
natures accolades stunning
the oaks yet bare
just waking from slumber
winters death passing
a sad day put asunder
the motorcade passed
Joey’s home on Prospect Ave
few envision lifes endings
this woefully sad
red chevy pickup idles
in hoop crowned driveway
never to drain jumpers again
departed children can’t play
the eye in the sky
framed neighbors in mourning
welcoming back a fallen hero
unsettled emotions dawning
neighbors waved Old Glory
from painted stoops and curbs
unsure how this tragedy
visits this blessed suburb
green grass of home
always flush with spirit
tears welled in the eyes
most difficult to bear it
last cruise of the town
sad neighbors stand witness
paying final due respects
and ponder from a distance
what purpose is served
by this man’s passing?
the dead cannot speak
rationale is for the living
the terrible herse
death circles our town
moves through our day
hope of spring drowned
murderer of sunshine
killer of young flowers
budding trees breaking
our hearts an ashen pallor
we remember the beauty
of Joey’s stout face
as it looked on your finest day
exuding pure honor and grace
old vets gather
donning caps and pins
boasting semper fi jackets
jutting tear dripping chins
shaking hands, giving hugs
bearing tattered banners
the hearse ambles onward
we head home in solemn manner
good folks are always faithful
where beloved ones grew
the death of our children
we sadly cannot undo
7.
the bells of St. Lukes
called out from the sky
platoons of limping vets
marched in with pride
pomp and circumstance
requisite dress blues
family, friends, townsfolk
overflowed the pews
doleful bells resound
tolling a mournful reckon
the cost of war mounts
a family’s loss beckons
the casualties of war
falls upon a nation's youth
a seasons page not turned
a flowing wound not soothed
the wistful cornet calling
floats on the fluted air
the bereaved ***** gently sounds
a congregations somber despair
an unsettling dirge
the parish grows uneasy
nationalist bravado wanes
in the forlorn sanctuary
both church and flag
draped in colors of war
mock stain glass windows
communicants adore
is it a betrayal of the flag
to offer enemies
psalms of reconciliation?
where does true loyalty lay
with God or a warring nation?
afterall this is a sanctuary
where peace and harmony reigns
are we not called to beat swords
into ploughshares as the highest
calling of our Lord?
we are always faithful
to the pathways to war
when the practice of peace
is what we should adore
8.
coughing and whispers
incessant low murmur
a baby cries out
we sit and remember
the crucifers process
in solemnity to greet
subtle ***** notes salute
a coffin draped in Old Glory sheets
the beloved child welcomed
to his eternal repose
priests splash holy water
within the sacred dome
an amazing grace revealed
lifted by marine pallbearers
dearly departed body presented
gently placed at the altar
a grief struck sister
lovingly eulogizes
recalls tonka trucks,
GI Joe’s and cool transformers
a punch in the nose
an approaching wedding
beckoning Eastertide
vacation plans left begging
my second grade class sent
Christmas cookies and cards
to dear Joey and warrior friends
he said it warmed stark winter hearts
he was raised in this church
taught trust and reconciliation
the comfort of the Lords peace
may it surely go with him
for he was always faithful
to sisters, family and faith
his resurrection service
imbues sacredness
to this space
9.
sharp in dress blues
Eddie T USMC Gunny
big 50 caliber smile
offers his eulogy
Bada Bing Jersey Humvee
we called him Joey Calzones
good mood, loved sausages
he tickled the funny bone
always willing to sacrifice
loved the Patriots Tom Brady
a women dominated household
gave him a way with the ladies
his calling explosive ordinances
he said he was livin the dream
March 6th last time we met
knocking frost off cold ones
man whatta scream
a gallant marine,
beloved brother,
a sure friend
he was always faithful
I’m deeply wounded
by his untimely end
10.
the gospel read
the homily offered
Ecclesiastes wisdom
a time for everything
proffered
God never turns
an eye from the beloved
though seasons change
we are not forsaken
never unloved
as loss arrives
surely grief grows
turn away not
wisdom knows
in resignation
love lay dead
diligent intention
banishes dread
our rekindled hope
we rend and sow
our beloved Joey
knew this was so
our favorite son’s
example taught us
now rises on eagle’s wings
to claim his divine justice
Jesus faithfully tramped
the path to an awful death
Joey too fought the good fight
a warrior now gratefully at rest
The Lord holds him close
to the ***** of sure love
a cantors beatific voice incants
Joey’s spirit that forever enchants
The Lord is always faithful
to the bereaved and beloved
no one ever forsaken
all unconditionally loved
11.
the Holy Eucharistic cup
affirms everlasting giving
tasted to nourish evermore
a libation for the living
singing the Beatitudes
praising peace makers
mercy filled voice and song
pallbearers lift Joey’s coffin
off to seek his final peace
an earthly occupation ended
he’ll suffer worldly hate no more
down the aisle his coffin wended
the family closely followed
a mother haltingly sobbing
faithful marines came forth
to steady her wobbling
there is no sudden waking
from this terrible dream
the pungent incense rose
to the chapels sacred beams
the stained glass murals depict
the passion of Jesus’s story
illuming a consuming sorrow
in all its grace filled glory
the ***** of death slinks on again
we search for consolation
the recompense of honor blest
leaves a hollow heart wanting
no answers offered to quell the dark
of these terrible life’s moments
only the desperate need to hold onto
beleaguered treasure that sustains us
for we are always faithful
to the things we know
always faithful to the
things we refuse to let go
12.
the color guard and funeral detail
assembled in front of St. Luke’s
the cemetery right next door
the procession a short troop
the living will stumble through
the darkness of separation
seeking elusive answers
of poignant uncertainty;
all gave some, Joey gave all
nothing more required for his
journey through eternity
Joey will always be with us
his stories forever retold
as long as the machinery of
great nations engage
the gears of wasteful war
Joey’s spirit lives
in a peoples desire
for freedom, only if
our hope of peace
is greater than the
need for conflict
Joey’s lifes work
is sure to bear fruit
if those remaining
fight the good fight
by taking up the
task to protect and
expand the values
of liberty we
hold most dear
like our good
friend Jesus
Joey wears a crown
bejeweled with
a ring of thorns
hoisted on a
terrible cross
the sweet
incense of you
meets our nose
we inhale your
earthly presence
beholding beautifully
adorned crucifix,
a reminder of
unjust persecution
and a perfect
resurrection
yet this wretched
coffin remains
pledging allegiance
we rationalize our
stories, articulating
our small parts
in heroic sagas,
reciting myths of
ourselves, recording
the grim history of
a young marine
surrounded by
a smart color guard,
feasting on todays
eucharist, this
days sweet taste
of the daily bread
of human sorrow
The priest finishes
his graveside
commendation
of Joey D
Taps conclude
a wind rises
crows take flight
winging over
a stand of budding
Sugar Maples
exploding in white
blooms, reveling
in the glorious
sunshine of this
magnificent day
St. Luke’s stairway to
God Country and Home
smiling portrait of you
forever young
we surround your grave
to bless the earth
you've returned home
to your place of birth
our flowing pride
and salty tears bless
the anointed ground
that you loved best
a proud Jersey son
whom Thou hast blest
laid in St. Luke’s ground
for his heavenly rest
for he was always faithful
to the blessed land
forever at peace
in the soils sure hands
Charles Ives
The Unanswered Question
Oakland
11/10/13
jbm
a proud Jersey son
whom Thou hast blessed
laid in St. Luke’s ground
for his heavenly rest
April 4, 2012
1.
in a far off province of
God forsaken Helmand,
our dear son Joey
met his untimely end
an explosive crack
a most terrible sound
felled a beloved Jersey son
to the cold cruel ground
working the live wires
of a well placed IED
a deathly burst killed him
it was awful to see
Staff Sgt. Joseph D’Augustine
in solemn duty fell
fellow brothers in arms
will forever reverently tell
of courage and character
of a dear fallen friend
and how the valiant warrior
met with death at his end
for he was always faithful
to his beloved corps
comrades couldn't ask
a valiant marine for more
2.
details of his death
are not the real story
selflessness and bravery
are but part of his glory
is it brash to
question why he fell?
in a useless bitter war
an embroiled senseless hell
a generation mustered
to fight in the war on terror
serving four tours of duty
in a lost decade of errors
two tours in Afghanistan and Iraq
could a nation ask a man for more?
for he was always faithful to the call
upholding pledges he hath sworn
3.
the burden of war
to a few confined
it rarely crosses
an American’s mind
incessant war machine
drones on apace
the horror of conflict
so cleverly displaced
with afternoon baseball
and super bowl parties
big disco paychecks
and other selfish priorities
pay hollow tribute
to dear weary troops
when valor is mentioned
we gather in groups
we’ll raise the flag
sing stirring anthems
than its back to the party
pay it no more attention
self styled patriots
wave handfuls of flags
but ask them to contribute
the zeal soon lags
its left to the few
to shoulder burdens of many
fairness is lost
its a democratic calamity
four tours in a decade
an inhumane task
burdens require sharing
its only fair to ask
Joey was always faithful
to the task at hand
willing to step forward
to serve his homeland
4.
in the wake of 9/11
a nation deeply shaken
young patriots stirred
liberty’s call not forsaken
a call to serve answered
to quell the rise of terror
a clear clarion alarm
marks the nature of the era
Joey boldly came forward
to train and learn
the art of warriors
his bright patriotism burned
deployed to Afghanistan
to capture Osama
routing the Taliban
without much problem
but a pacified Afghan
not enough for Bush
he invaded Iraq
another military push
we rolled into Baghdad
adorned with victors garlands
Saddam’s statue toppled
our troops were honored
deposing a dictators
soon turned to occupation
a ****** mission transformed
to build the Iraqi and Afghan nations
once honored liberators
now a conquering force
bestriding broken nations
on a civil war course
military industrialists
stood to profit most
sweet protracted conflict
record earnings to boast
lives bartered for lucre
a region held hostage
the conflict deepened
hostilities hardened
America dipped into
a great recession
the war machine
bled money and
kept on ticking
scooping up contracts
rewarding investors
the dividends of war
heaven sent treasure
continuation of hostilities
preys on a nation's youth
as casualties mount
ill portents forsoothed
a fraction of citizens
bare heartaches of war
gulping measures of despair
to guard a nations door
a nation always faithful
to the holy pursuit of profit
a highest citizens calling
put money into your pocket
5.
our beloved Jersey son
gave a full measure of devotion
in dress blues they shipped him
back across the ocean
on the Dover tarmac
they received his remains
for a last ride northward
to his hometown terrain
repatriated body
bereft of soul saluted
solemn escort knelt
hearts trembled, tears muted
a hearse for a gallant man
flanked by state troop cruisers
to escort the funeral train
assure an honored movement
one last trip up
old thunder road
the storied highway
Joey often trod
the last detail legged up 17
reverent firefighters saluted
from overpasses
to honor the woeful scene
as the motorcade passed
the Garden State Malls
frenzied consumers
failed to notice at all
busy window shoppers
didn't to turn an eye
as Joey rolled home
to the sweet by and by
vets interred at the
Old Paramus Church
gently stirred in their graves
reasons for war they search
Channel 12 Chopper
circled its eye in the sky
televised the sad parade
captured many teary eyes
the early spring blooms
colorful petals displayed
maples and forsythias
a royal carpet laid
spring remains always faithful
as the new season turns
offer sunshine and glory
as our sinking hearts burn
6.
motorcycle escort
northbound lane clear
rolling homeward
Waldwick was near
leaves exploding
green shoots budding
****** white maple blooms
natures accolades stunning
the oaks yet bare
just waking from slumber
winters death passing
a sad day put asunder
the motorcade passed
Joey’s home on Prospect Ave
few envision lifes endings
this woefully sad
red chevy pickup idles
in hoop crowned driveway
never to drain jumpers again
departed children can’t play
the eye in the sky
framed neighbors in mourning
welcoming back a fallen hero
unsettled emotions dawning
neighbors waved Old Glory
from painted stoops and curbs
unsure how this tragedy
visits this blessed suburb
green grass of home
always flush with spirit
tears welled in the eyes
most difficult to bear it
last cruise of the town
sad neighbors stand witness
paying final due respects
and ponder from a distance
what purpose is served
by this man’s passing?
the dead cannot speak
rationale is for the living
the terrible herse
death circles our town
moves through our day
hope of spring drowned
murderer of sunshine
killer of young flowers
budding trees breaking
our hearts an ashen pallor
we remember the beauty
of Joey’s stout face
as it looked on your finest day
exuding pure honor and grace
old vets gather
donning caps and pins
boasting semper fi jackets
jutting tear dripping chins
shaking hands, giving hugs
bearing tattered banners
the hearse ambles onward
we head home in solemn manner
good folks are always faithful
where beloved ones grew
the death of our children
we sadly cannot undo
7.
the bells of St. Lukes
called out from the sky
platoons of limping vets
marched in with pride
pomp and circumstance
requisite dress blues
family, friends, townsfolk
overflowed the pews
doleful bells resound
tolling a mournful reckon
the cost of war mounts
a family’s loss beckons
the casualties of war
falls upon a nation's youth
a seasons page not turned
a flowing wound not soothed
the wistful cornet calling
floats on the fluted air
the bereaved ***** gently sounds
a congregations somber despair
an unsettling dirge
the parish grows uneasy
nationalist bravado wanes
in the forlorn sanctuary
both church and flag
draped in colors of war
mock stain glass windows
communicants adore
is it a betrayal of the flag
to offer enemies
psalms of reconciliation?
where does true loyalty lay
with God or a warring nation?
afterall this is a sanctuary
where peace and harmony reigns
are we not called to beat swords
into ploughshares as the highest
calling of our Lord?
we are always faithful
to the pathways to war
when the practice of peace
is what we should adore
8.
coughing and whispers
incessant low murmur
a baby cries out
we sit and remember
the crucifers process
in solemnity to greet
subtle ***** notes salute
a coffin draped in Old Glory sheets
the beloved child welcomed
to his eternal repose
priests splash holy water
within the sacred dome
an amazing grace revealed
lifted by marine pallbearers
dearly departed body presented
gently placed at the altar
a grief struck sister
lovingly eulogizes
recalls tonka trucks,
GI Joe’s and cool transformers
a punch in the nose
an approaching wedding
beckoning Eastertide
vacation plans left begging
my second grade class sent
Christmas cookies and cards
to dear Joey and warrior friends
he said it warmed stark winter hearts
he was raised in this church
taught trust and reconciliation
the comfort of the Lords peace
may it surely go with him
for he was always faithful
to sisters, family and faith
his resurrection service
imbues sacredness
to this space
9.
sharp in dress blues
Eddie T USMC Gunny
big 50 caliber smile
offers his eulogy
Bada Bing Jersey Humvee
we called him Joey Calzones
good mood, loved sausages
he tickled the funny bone
always willing to sacrifice
loved the Patriots Tom Brady
a women dominated household
gave him a way with the ladies
his calling explosive ordinances
he said he was livin the dream
March 6th last time we met
knocking frost off cold ones
man whatta scream
a gallant marine,
beloved brother,
a sure friend
he was always faithful
I’m deeply wounded
by his untimely end
10.
the gospel read
the homily offered
Ecclesiastes wisdom
a time for everything
proffered
God never turns
an eye from the beloved
though seasons change
we are not forsaken
never unloved
as loss arrives
surely grief grows
turn away not
wisdom knows
in resignation
love lay dead
diligent intention
banishes dread
our rekindled hope
we rend and sow
our beloved Joey
knew this was so
our favorite son’s
example taught us
now rises on eagle’s wings
to claim his divine justice
Jesus faithfully tramped
the path to an awful death
Joey too fought the good fight
a warrior now gratefully at rest
The Lord holds him close
to the ***** of sure love
a cantors beatific voice incants
Joey’s spirit that forever enchants
The Lord is always faithful
to the bereaved and beloved
no one ever forsaken
all unconditionally loved
11.
the Holy Eucharistic cup
affirms everlasting giving
tasted to nourish evermore
a libation for the living
singing the Beatitudes
praising peace makers
mercy filled voice and song
pallbearers lift Joey’s coffin
off to seek his final peace
an earthly occupation ended
he’ll suffer worldly hate no more
down the aisle his coffin wended
the family closely followed
a mother haltingly sobbing
faithful marines came forth
to steady her wobbling
there is no sudden waking
from this terrible dream
the pungent incense rose
to the chapels sacred beams
the stained glass murals depict
the passion of Jesus’s story
illuming a consuming sorrow
in all its grace filled glory
the ***** of death slinks on again
we search for consolation
the recompense of honor blest
leaves a hollow heart wanting
no answers offered to quell the dark
of these terrible life’s moments
only the desperate need to hold onto
beleaguered treasure that sustains us
for we are always faithful
to the things we know
always faithful to the
things we refuse to let go
12.
the color guard and funeral detail
assembled in front of St. Luke’s
the cemetery right next door
the procession a short troop
the living will stumble through
the darkness of separation
seeking elusive answers
of poignant uncertainty;
all gave some, Joey gave all
nothing more required for his
journey through eternity
Joey will always be with us
his stories forever retold
as long as the machinery of
great nations engage
the gears of wasteful war
Joey’s spirit lives
in a peoples desire
for freedom, only if
our hope of peace
is greater than the
need for conflict
Joey’s lifes work
is sure to bear fruit
if those remaining
fight the good fight
by taking up the
task to protect and
expand the values
of liberty we
hold most dear
like our good
friend Jesus
Joey wears a crown
bejeweled with
a ring of thorns
hoisted on a
terrible cross
the sweet
incense of you
meets our nose
we inhale your
earthly presence
beholding beautifully
adorned crucifix,
a reminder of
unjust persecution
and a perfect
resurrection
yet this wretched
coffin remains
pledging allegiance
we rationalize our
stories, articulating
our small parts
in heroic sagas,
reciting myths of
ourselves, recording
the grim history of
a young marine
surrounded by
a smart color guard,
feasting on todays
eucharist, this
days sweet taste
of the daily bread
of human sorrow
The priest finishes
his graveside
commendation
of Joey D
Taps conclude
a wind rises
crows take flight
winging over
a stand of budding
Sugar Maples
exploding in white
blooms, reveling
in the glorious
sunshine of this
magnificent day
St. Luke’s stairway to
God Country and Home
smiling portrait of you
forever young
we surround your grave
to bless the earth
you've returned home
to your place of birth
our flowing pride
and salty tears bless
the anointed ground
that you loved best
a proud Jersey son
whom Thou hast blest
laid in St. Luke’s ground
for his heavenly rest
for he was always faithful
to the blessed land
forever at peace
in the soils sure hands
Charles Ives
The Unanswered Question
Oakland
11/10/13
jbm
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.