People always complain about political correctness
Unless it's something important to them
Then they expect you to use empathetic indirectness
As to not hurt the feelings of men

I'm a homosexual talking to a stranger
They don't detect this
They say ****** and unleash my anger
They don't expect this
They were expecting me to be socially correct
To their bigoted views
They can't handle it when their hatred reflects
And they're given their due

I can't ask for a simple date
Or mention anything about God
I can't ask for their ****** state
That would imply that they're flawed
Yet they say I'm easily offended
But their argument is upended
When there are many topics I must avoid
Or hedge around
Otherwise they will get easily annoyed
And wear a frown

People say Donald Trump is politically incorrect
But that's not true
He's a hateful *******
People confuse that with political incorrectness
But if about half the people who vote are pieces of ****
Can that really be said to be incorrect?
The idea of the president being politically incorrect is absurd
By virtue of being elected his politics are being endorsed
And endorsement is what comprises political correctness
He may know nothing of governance or diplomacy
But he was correct when it came to politics

I live in a country where I can say pretty much whatever I want
And then everyone else can react however they want
To be angry at someone's reaction is its own political correctness
They're just mad it's not their own specific politics being adhered to

So when people mention political correctness I laugh
It's a defensively reflexive path
When they live an unexamined life
But then complain about their plight
They think they're hated because they're white
They think they're hated because they're right
I dislike them because they have low empathy
So I don't want to be near that
Because their hatred starts to enter me
When they call me a queer ***
Then they expect me to love it
But instead I tell them to shove it
They tell me I'm being politically correct
Maybe it's their own lives they should inspect

Somewhere in the past
you were deeply affected within your interaction
with one of my accounts.  I don't know who you are
(who the person is that is leaving tangible fingerprints
on the keyboard of this account I am speaking to)..
I can only guess,
but I am fairly sure that my guess is accurate,
     so I will keep all of that to myself,
so that you can freely and without fear of being found out,
go back with me to that place inside of yourself  that felt so well
met and seen back then.

In turn, no more *******, devaluing of love
the way that you do so often at close range.

If you pull that horrendously harmful **** again,
I will pull away again, but this time.. never come back.
That being said, I will not leave you hanging,
(or do my best to not to)  
if you bring  towards me  the need within you..
that through your memory,

you so well believe that I can satisfy
(and you already know that I am not talking about the ******).


You feel the deep, internal response--
from deep within that body of yours,  
when love warmly touches  
previously untouched places within you

And you spin them out publicly right in the midst of our
closeness of interaction (which I think is really cool),
just please don't flay me for showing my humanity
by responding back to you sexually.
I will keep that side to myself,  if that is what it takes
to keep you from throwing me under the bus, yet again.
The ****** (within the closeness of warm, loving connection) --
((even in the world of support..))
that very sensuality so perfectly parallels..  
through physical, tangibly-felt metaphor..
all that there is also within the Realms
when it comes to the spiritual.

Healing of that which has become broken by the fallen
******-up version of love this world brings--
that type of healing and restoration back into wholeness
is what all relational closeness is meant to bring,  and stand for.
You want something that you deeply believe that I have,  
yet somewhere..   maybe in another life..
I must have hurt you deeply,
or you wouldn't be sending  all these finger-puppet forays
my way.

Come and get what you want and need,
and if you believe I am shorting you your rightful blessing  
by missing it..   or simply just being generically stupid,
then instead of flaying me publicly,  
privately come to me  in boldness,
   and shake it out of me--
that which is rightfully yours-- my healing-response.

and do it brazenly,  with a fierce, yet open and vulnerable heart
the way that you have shown in your poems. Maybe in time
you will find out all on your own  
that what you thought was hurtful from me,  was felt
out of perception,  rather than what was actual.
If I really did do something,  tell me what it is
so that I can own up to it and tell you that I am sorry
for ******* everything up that way..
if, in fact.. it was something I really did.

I will only talk to you  from here (my M Vogel account)
so that you can rise and fall
concerning what things you need most from me,  
solely

by the responsibility of you,
and of me.

You already know that I am Paul.
You can call me that,  or M Vogel,
or stupidface..
or any of my other account names if you want,
but get inside of here with me what it is that you came for.

If it is something that I am able to give or be a part of..
then know it will become yours  in time.
  You have the ability..
    even though being spoken to this way
    both wildly turns you on
    and completely scares you shitless
    (and probably both at the same time)
you have  proven,  through your posted words  
that you are actually able to be a part of   and do,
what has for so long  felt so horribly distant from you,
   and so horrendously impossible for you to attain.
You have earned every single part of this very rightful place
that you now have in here with me.

Please don't stupidly **** it up the way that you so well
and so often do.
You are brilliant, girl. We both know that.
Stupid things are possible because your world has had learn
to be so incredibly indirect in order to survive.
What has saved you up until now,  out there..
will destroy everything for you,   in here.
But you are human, and rendering old things   dead
may be too much to ask for.. so I will tell you now--

that even  if within your broken, PTSD-filter--
you make a mess of the closeness--  at close range..
then with poetry, find your way back into my heart--
by speaking solely from yours  as you have.
**** me over too insincerely and callously  without remorse,
and you yourself will have stolen  you--  directly from
that of the deepest of places within my own heart.

Your call, kid..
You are not a little 14 year old  clad in combat boots anymore.
Yours is a living, breathing heart--
left withering  within the dry desert of indirectness
that you have  been forced up until now  to live in.

Every single day the sun comes up, anew. Those words mean
everything to you for a reason.
Through love and accountability,  breathe life in to them.

That is how you will make them real.

because i reduced my language to encode onomatopoeia, and because i didn't allow stresses to be pronounced on letters for the appropriate expressions of deviating local accents (instead concentrating on the snail slogans of organic produce, local, ******): to contrast the inherited Latin encoding system - i used aesthetic encoding to such an extent that i gave birth to dyslexia, or to put simply: over-spelling... i deviated from the other inheritors of the Latin alphabet without stressing certain sounds, hence i conquered the world, and subsequently giving up Hong Kong, became the ****-hole of the world, with 5 year old children being accused of ****** exploitation in the newspapers... i didn't follow the continental drift toward evolving Latin, yet i immersed myself in Darwinism, to preach the doctrine of the evolution of forms, the square remained a square, the circle a circle... the monkey suddenly became a man... and since i preached the universality of man, i was wedged in too many particulars in how i said things to be... which is why i believed in America and decided to exit Project Europe... which is why i became the F. D. Roosevelt island of hopes, isolationism being the cure, sure, everyone is employed, but on 0 hour contracts... which is why someone with enough oil in their head came among and said: Sa-id! we need a hyphen over a letter rather than keep it as a wavering compound awaiting the Oxford nod of approval... it's a shame when you care for the aesthetics, but never provide a system of directness, as in always providing a system of indirectness - meaning there's no mathematics involved in lettering - no stress - all the stress gets turned into exploiting forms that don't nudge into coerced trapeziums of disintegration, means you work more than the 9 to 5 prescription... all because you exploited children during the Victorian age, and left the young of our present age to premature ailments that only old people should succumb to... you can't be Romans just like that! too may oceans, not enough seas... you need to add stresses to the letter you are sorta borrowing rather than plundering, be like the Germans, the French, the Poles, invite the aesthetic scientists to desecrate the temples of Runes... but at the same time plunder the encoding with accents, to simply say: we're above, no matter the success of trade your empire provides... we say it chisel, you say it chive... we build, you cook, the end. but keeping it in naked diacritic lack will expose weaknesses in the physical realm of use when silenced... English needs to stress itself with this phonetic encoding if it's to survive at all... but it's too late for that, i fear... there are too many particular instances of its eccentricity that come as pride a minute from now, and as a landfill site the minute after... they are paying for keeping with the Latin alphabet unabashed to continue without mathematical stresses of saying things... but the times of George V and the empire are long gone... it's just that, or the fact that they don't know what their weakness is... since they battle stresses of phonetic encoding with political egoism on a populist scaling.*

i congest myself on the feline onomatopoeia, between a roar
and a meow - between the matured tree
and the bonsai replica i tend to do my quasi-cartesian thinking -
i don't really have an ego to verb together
things with a pristine causality akin to exercise equalling
perspiration - thought has no verb attachment -
no motivational speech to boot -
being is the same -
i simply concentrated on the exponential
existence of nouns -
like anyone with too much information
i find keeping a respectable investment in
nouns to be the source of my misery -
with such a high number of nouns and a pauper's
share of verbs i will obviously become a slacker
in the former category, as in the latter -
instinctively like a cat, speaking the universal
sound that i silence and then rewrite in
the onomatopoeia form i hardly think and hardly
am, a cat... i just have too many nouns to
take care of, most of which i'd only use
slouched with a book before going to sleep,
and never actually using in my everyday speech,
it's back to the garden of Eden and the fruit of
temptation: aiming for a high propane vocabulary
is like Adam given the fruit, gets a vocabulary
of a chemist, but ends up being a plumber...
no one checks this ****, ever!
i get the part of "we're in this together",
but mediating all our specialisations in a democratic way
will only create more tangents and the trigonometric
tan(gens) graphs of solipsism - offshoots and
somehow always "dark graphs" (σκότογραφυ) -
oddly enough, making the acute omicron into a u
never allowed the upsilon an endeavour into Y (macron
i) with any diacritic, other than the hint in capital
of the mentioned lower-case encoding.
what the **** was i saying? i'm astounded at the
fact that i lost the fluidity, not what i was saying per se,
it seem the per se fluidity got blocked and i had
to reopen the Pandora box yet again... let me have
a while to guess where the narrative should realign
without the reverse of fictional characters as extensions
of the narrator - i.e. poetry's synonym of characters
is personae, meaning that poetry has personae
and fictional prose has characters... the fictional
prose narrator tries to piece a space together with many
characters he's conscious of as inventing...
the poet narrator tries to piece a person together with many
personae he's not conscious of, atypically a schizoid
symptom... or not... ... ... ... ... ... oh right...
the balance of nouns and verbs in the Cartesian sense
of exercise and perspiration, or the fact that Serena Williams
never breaks a sweat... love those thighs...
she never asks for a towel to rub her hands or face dry...
she must be doping with the Russians...
too many nouns surrounding us,
i feel like a proton surrounded by what i thought
was the limit (electrons), but no! oh no! there are
quarks, neutrinos, and ******* violins!
whirling whirlwind strings and chopsticks -
which translated into Chinese just means Chopping Suede Sue;
hey! i got a bell ding-**** knocking on wood just now...
funny how poetry can do that... knock on wood
you end up hearing a seashell tide break open
the coral restrictions with a tsunami gnash on earthly goods.

St. Valentine Was A *******
he clearly was Aphrodite's *****
he became a slave to that amorous witch
and cupid was his constant itch
Now his day is set aside
for marketing and sales besides
lingerie and chocolate, flowers and jewels
are profit for money grubbing tools

One day out of the year shouldn't be set aside
to show your partner you care besides
love is more than hot passionate ***
it's more than cards with funny effects
love entails more than having kids

While I'm here can I just address
Ladies, we think its for the best,
that you just say what you want, no more hints or indirectness,
don't expect us to know we can't read minds, that's not how nature erected us

Somewhere in the past,
you were deeply affected within your interaction
with one of my accounts.  I don't know who you are
(who the person is that is leaving tangible fingerprints
on the keyboard of this account I am speaking to)..
I can only guess,
but I am fairly sure that my guess is accurate,
     so I will keep all of that to myself,
so that you can freely and without fear of being found out,
go back with me to that place inside of yourself  that felt so well
met and seen back then.

In turn, no more *******, devaluing of love
the way that you do so often at close range.

If you pull that horrendously harmful **** again,
I will pull away again, but this time.. never come back.
That being said, I will not leave you hanging,
(or do my best to not to)  
if you bring  towards me  the need within you..
that through your memory,

you so well believe that I can satisfy
(and you already know that I am not talking about the ******).


You feel the deep, internal response--
from deep within that body of yours,  
when love warmly touches  
previously untouched places within you

And you spin them out publicly right in the midst of our
closeness of interaction (which I think is really cool),
just please don't flay me for showing my humanity
by responding back to you sexually.
I will keep that side to myself,  if that is what it takes
to keep you from throwing me under the bus, yet again.
The ****** (within the closeness of warm, loving connection) --
((even in the world of support..))
that very sensuality so perfectly parallels..  
through physical, tangibly-felt metaphor..
all that there is also within the Realms
when it comes to the spiritual.

Healing of that which has become broken by the fallen
******-up version of love this world brings--
that type of healing and restoration back into wholeness
is what all relational closeness is meant to bring,  and stand for.
You want something that you deeply believe that I have,  
yet somewhere..   maybe in another life..
I must have hurt you deeply,
or you wouldn't be sending  all these finger-puppet forays
my way.

Come and get what you want and need,
and if you believe I am shorting you your rightful blessing  
by missing it..   or simply just being generically stupid,
then instead of flaying me publicly,  
privately come to me  in boldness,
   and shake it out of me--
that which is rightfully yours-- my healing-response.

and do it brazenly,  with a fierce, yet open and vulnerable heart
the way that you have shown in your poems. Maybe in time
you will find out all on your own  
that what you thought was hurtful from me,  was felt
out of perception,  rather than what was actual.
If I really did do something,  tell me what it is
so that I can own up to it and tell you that I am sorry
for ******* everything up that way..
if, in fact.. it was something I really did.

I will only talk to you  from here (my M Vogel account)
so that you can rise and fall
concerning what things you need most from me,  
solely

by the responsibility of you,
and of me.

You already know that I am Paul.
You can call me that,  or M Vogel,
or stupidface..
or any of my other account names if you want,
but get inside of here with me what it is that you came for.

If it is something that I am able to give or be a part of..
then know it will become yours  in time.
  You have the ability..
     even though being spoken to this way
    both wildly turns you on
    and completely scares you shitless
    (((and probably both at the same time)))
you have  proven,  through your posted words  
that you are actually able to be a part of   and do,
what has for so long  felt so horribly distant from you,
   and so horrendously impossible for you to attain.
You have earned every single part of this very rightful place
that you now have in here with me.

Please don't stupidly **** it up the way that you so well
and so often do.
You are brilliant, girl. We both know that.
Stupid things are possible because your world has had learn
to be so incredibly indirect in order to survive.
What has saved you up until now,  out there..
will destroy everything for you,   in here.
But you are human, and rendering old things   dead
may be too much to ask for.. so I will tell you now--

that even  if within your broken, PTSD-filter--
you make a mess of the closeness--  at close range..
then with poetry, find your way back into my heart--
by speaking solely from yours  as you have.
**** me over too insincerely and callously  without remorse,
and you yourself will have stolen  you--  directly from
that of the deepest of places within my own heart.

Your call, kid..
You are not a little 14 year old  clad in combat boots anymore.
Yours is a living, breathing heart--
left withering  within the dry desert of indirectness
that you have  been forced up until now  to live in.

*Every single day the sun comes up, anew. Those words mean everything to you for a reason.
Through love and accountability,  breathe life in to them.

That is how you will make them real.