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Montana Aug 2012
I'll *******,
If you want.
Cause I want it
Just as bad as you do.
But I also want to hear the rustle of the sheets
When you turn over in the middle of the night.
I want to feel your hot breath on my neck.
I want the stubble on your chin to graze my cheek
As you kiss me gently on the forehead.
And when I whisper "goodnight," you don't have to reply.
Just nudge me with your knee
Or poke me with your elbow.
8/13/12
cheryl love Feb 2014
When you’re old and you’ve stuffed yourself silly
On  everyone’s chocolates and nice things to eat.
Give me a nudge if you please, on your way out
In case I fall asleep and knock myself off the seat,

When you have spent all day in the garden
Cutting lawns and trimming back the odd hedge.
Give me a nudge  on the way out please
Amd leave the keys on the ledge

On Saturday night, the musuc beckons you
Your hips pivot like Elvis and you have feet like Rogers
Give me a nudge on the way out
To prove I am not like an old codger
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.via ghana: i iz welcome the haiku poetic extractionz of the maxim: full-on potentiality of - few words maximum effortz! one wishes to almost die from feng shui minimalism! chinese geomancy and european chiromancy (reading balzac et al.) - but the sigh poetic of pepsi max effort iz wot iz the breaking of the camel bonk and backß... last time i heard from a kenyan bartender... all the timber comes from ghana... as does the wheat from ukraine and the salt from poland... coal is always "elsewhere"... or no coal... wind... the wind comes from: far far away... beyond the language of the seven vowels...

it took much of an effort to have to overcome
a reading of Stendhal...
esp. when you find him in your teens..
almost impossible...

it's enough to visit a brothel:
once a year... perhaps skipping a year...
and there's enough body,
and skin, and warmth...
to contrast... what i'm yet to read about...
otherwise have read, i.e.:

2010s through the 2020 summary...
lucy holden now 29...
sexting, dating apps, bisexual flings
flatmates with benefits...
millenial serial dater...

all the details are already known...
mine? that strip-clup in athens on a whim
with two strippers either arm
burrowing my face solving the mole
in their cleavage...
the goodmayes borthel with the romanians
that said a very bulgarian word, once...

and who can ever forget
the south african cocoon ****-accusation
of: not unde the bed-sheets and please
oil up rather than dry-******* me...
or the thai surprise picked up
in a park and that a little bit of heavyweight
beer and some jazz and a garden shed will allow...
the number of times i've had ***...
well... what are fingers for?

the black girl with a coccyx like an iron maiden
attempting to tattoo itself onto my pelvis...
2nd time round?
i heard she had a child and his daddy
would be bringing him home the morning to come...
and this other black woman,
oh i mean: full detail - woman...
two children sleeping on the bed...
get dragged off...
thrown to the bed...
and i'm there to **** an imitation ******
of... a tight fold of legs...

it's not exactly **** but even with that:
i'm not a best fitter...
so tell her: it's not going to happen...
we pretend to sleep or at least i do...
when this afro-fur-ball with a plucking sound
of a smooch is standing at the end of the bird...
he's naked i'm naked everyone's naked
i pick him up like i pick up maine *****
and lay him on my chest...
i can't allow a river of fingers through
his afro tangles... so i pat them down...
and he falls asleep...

***... oh no ***** word about it monsieur!
just this *******...
oh but i'm glad that some girl nearing
her 30s has made up her mind up...
only recently i've heard that my mother was
attempting to woo a married man
who was part of the Solidary movement
and probably waiting for a greencard...
i heard this... from my grandmother...

i'm still pampering on the sly for
a Mary Antoinette...
Ilona was wrong... i wouldn't become
a child strapped to a hellhole of a teenager's bedroom...
i'd become a leech hybrid...
as along as i have enough excuses
to return for "the word"... and never rap it...
i'm fine fine... best be on my optimal behaviour...
to never find myself in a baptists' church choir...

- there's also a quick fix procedure...
the match of the day is watched
with the mascots on screen...
the ben-hur's not making it to
prophetic status... yes the bread...
yes the circus... and all those cul de sac...
soap operas of parking scenes...

and there's always language...
best expressed when drunk...
never sober because is what delves into
the formality of: dear sir / madam,
kind regards...

the day when i stopped combing my fair
and peered at the beard...
uncombed hair: almost reminds
me of donning a pineapple on it...
an ancient buddhist balancing act...
like performing the act of gravity...
without copernican mathematics...
as simple as finding the CENTER on
a bicycle... or like finding
buoyancy in a swimming pool...
perhaps i am more water than flesh...
but i'm also a fraction of fat...

i can float on water if i can find
the balance... i don't need to play
the drunkard treading water surviving
to stay afloat.... i... relax...
then i float.... or bob-on-the-surface
teasing an unexpected shark-bite-attack...
although: swimming in a sea
is not my thing...
i very much appreciate seeing
the bottom i can dive down toward
and touch... the chernobyl stink of chlorine...
is almost a parisian perfumery...

heat breeds diseases it breeds...
insects...
i abhor the heat...
the zenith of winter is yet,
is yet to arrive... and for the help of god:
i can't arrive at... writing sober...
should "poo'etry" ever be written sober
to begin with?
i mind: that i don't mind...

i can find 8pm and 9pm quite:
which implores you to not quit - curb colt...
i was making a sponge apple stuffing
roulade...
after having made some biscuit
with brown sugar and diadems of hazelnuts...
and prior to some sausage rolls...
three fillings...
cranberries with some peppers and
chillies...
fennel seeds with apple...
and the third... the third...
i don't quiet remember...

my head was exploding with a brain being
towed and all was:
i am yet to grieve a passing,
a tax of death...
i am yet to be left half imbecile and half
of any other texas hold-up poker game...
i'm wishing for...
that quarter of a million of a bet
i placed on:
one team wins...
but both have to score...
ergo... catching a mosquito by the testciles
donning boxing gloves chance...
2 - 1 etc. victories...

i don't want to blame women...
the last one i was serious about...
she's on her 3rd marriage or whatever...
and i'm still in woad: in deep blue
coinciding with...
god's roulette...

as a testiment of man...
there's the ambition to find: the void...
to find nothing...
and from that... find the thinking thing...
res vanus: the emptiness
that can be fathomed with more or less
thinking, than a yawn's presence...
because...
descartes doesn't really exact ontological,
whatever...
i can't be and be:
when i churn out a day-dream and
a day-dream is all that is...

thankfuly i have nothing to "work"
with... most women only have boredom to begin
with....
at exactly 20 minutes to 1am...
i'm not so sure...
a mother can say: you stink...
then you go and buy something from
a convenience store...
and the cashier stresses how fresh you smell...
that's quiet something...
a woman likes the way to smell to her...
in between doing these *******
tribunals of sweating over
apple roulades...

and Stendhal... it's only my mother...
i just have to gnash my teeth
and apply the burden of sober...
this canvas... no other...
i drink for the 1 hour pleasure
of disorientation...
a shot in the head in some Ukranian
prison...
stiched to the next to be executed...
chikatilo...
i'm not exactly fond of the company...
but i'm pretty sure...
kurt cobain... and his shotgun antics...

and how the prolonged death appeal
of Christine Chubbuck lasted much longer...
Kafka said it right:
a stab at the heart...
**** colt and boyo... don't aim for the head!
that's how Ukranian convicts die...
shot in the back of the head...
in a cell... never in the open...
it's not like the brain delves into
the automated unconscious of the pump
that's the heart... how do you think
the urban myth of the cockroach that lived
for 2 weeks more was born?
the head didn't have a mouth to ingest
food with...

shot in the back of the head is an execution
that, done in an Ukranian prison cell...
is pretty much all of Dante not visiting
either heaven or a hell...
but two weeks with... in the presence
of death... the body starving...
that magic finger-pointing exercise
of seeing death in movies?

well thank god they did a movie about
Christine Chubbuck's (rage against the machine):
bullet in the 'ed!
i was lied to, no matter...
i'm here to hush and sweep the leftovers...
because why would you march
a man into a prison cell...
shoot him in the head and close the door
and wait... because no: in the open...
with a chance for rabid dogs to feast on...
in the darkened night just shy of Kiev
would ever matter...

Christine Chubbuck was left dying on
life-support machines after her half-high Kiev
attempt to pop the balloon...
psych- myth of the brain as source
of the sigma soul...
my left toe has more soul than this
rubric forever explained as forever to be explored
goose-fat sponge...
come to think of it...
after a haemorrhage that no one believes
beside me, some neurologist and a dementia
riddled grandfather who easily forgot...

what's this brain this brain this nought?!
**** it... kamikaze cockroach!
as ever oh but always so much when
someone has to mention...
has to mention: with no exacting details
of fancy...

also called the drought period when pakistani
gangs are up in Leeds and i'm strapped
to the outlier Loon'don culture:
as ever playing the obedient schizoid...
because that's, just fair game...
centuries behind what the youth
of Denmark have to offer...
the mutterzunge and the l'inglese of:
any future of tourism with Jack's flag...

heavy influences stemming from
st. andrew and all the worth of wordworth
with a tinge of punk...
but never a baron of lexicon coming from
just shy of 4 hours away from
the lisp of masovian warsaw...

what could possibly be wrong?
how about... stemming it down to the root
of... sober people and the lacklustre of
when writing: under no influence at all...
apparently "now" the high moral ground!
the sobers usher in the words
that we are abide by when the football hooligans
their casual Tuesday mundane,
their casual Tuesday mundane custard
splodge of oats in regurgitation...

i can almost but not quiet...
imagine myself being the cameo in this dear diary
of these "free" women of the western world...
give me a feral black woman pulling
two kids from her bed in order
to imitate a ****** by folding her legs to
pretend...

it's still a bullet in the back of the head
for some, minor or major
andrei "cain" chikatilo -
no... with a full crop of cranium of hair...
and a grandmother that says...
well... how busy your chin hairs are...
that you are able to lodge a pencil in there
and it doesn't fall out...
hair here and all other hair elsewhere...
chest and... where the antioch identifier
of achilles ought to be of a six in sixes
packaged...

since who is buddha... or a christ when...
an thích quang duc "oops" happens...
the people will never leave their unison...
their get-together "happening"...
but what's to be celebrated should...
the crucifix be turned into that "other"
torture ordeal of being: piked...
crucifixion the tsunami wave of history...
when one can expect the fate
of being piked by the more imaginative
sorts?
if only the antichrist was gay
and was sentenced to levitate on a pike...
passion and ecstasy via
the Walhalla doing ****... again:
sorry if the pike missed the **** baptism
of ecstasy... and instead aimed
at ripping apart the flesh and bone at:
whatever pivot was made available
to work from reverse ingestion:
beginning with the pelvis...

i'm just tired and cooking and shooing
shadows for the past month and i know that it's
just an exaggerate lounge period...
and all i want is an added arm...
and the serenity leg to take the step to return to...
footsteps... with a bulging echo to command...

it needs to be stressed that these women were black...
i call them ivory beauties of chocolate come
quicksilver moon glistening...
i can't remember... no... "you're" right...
i never managed to **** anything
of an ethno-centric "perspective"...
i'd be arrested for that...
as if starting a hitlerjungen movement or
some other random "****"...

i'd package myself with a mexican strapped into
alcatraz...
the Louis of the Aztecs and some
long lost St. Juan of the Mayans...
leash me... Russian or Prussian or...
what's that third otherwise power of influence
that this body was allowed to morph into?

perhaps i once was allowed to control these words...
but that's how drinking goes...
it's a homocodie when you **** someone
when under the influence of alcohol when driving
a car...
this is a sort of homocide...
i trully gave my hands away to the devil...
and the brain: oh forget that old fabble of a pickle...
what's in brine was always supposed
to be in brine and pickled...

- and what were the chances of me becoming
a sentimental drunk... listening to some
crowded house - weather with you?
the la's - the la's... no... not merely the 1990s
epitome of h'american tourism lodged in london
of myth... as any ******... that myth translated
itself into paris... there she goes...
i mean the whole album...

whale! whale! a beached whale!
Grindadráp...
and some want to go on the Hajj...
and die in a human stampede at the Mecca...
but... well... some want to...
of all of Europe...
Venice, Paris, Rome, Athens,
Amsterdam, perhaps Edinburgh
(wink-wink nudge-nudge)...
Barcelona...
or... Grindadráp of the Faroe Islands...

capture a polyphony in language that is hardly
ever going to be much more
than a chance to... to do that...
shove three fingers into your gob...
expect an elevated volume of sounds...
call the hounds! a mile away!
i was never allowed to learn that
whistling "trick"...
perhaps that's why i never managed
to play the trombone or the clarinet...
the ****-poor leftover guitar...
which is as much as having to read
braille!

reality: i live in england but i'm a ******...
i haven't ****** an english girl...
or a ****** girl...
i was close! a ****** girl licked my face
like a cow, once...
chin, lips, nose and forehead...
i was actually waiting for e.t. when that
happened...
the pakistanis have all the english girls...
sorry... it's sad...
but... the australia...
the fwench... the russian...
it's a decent rubric...
crude... nuanced...
so is buying fwesh meat at the butchers...
the perfect crime is less severe...
fiddling with a tombstone...
then towing it for 2 miles...
to bury the remains of your cat...
after your neighbour "accidently" killed him
when you were away...
and of course they deny it...

after all... i live in a society...
innocent until proven guilty...
said jimmy saville...
it's not the old... european "misunderstanding"..
of guilty until proven innocent...
if not a real story of Tomasz Komenda...
there's the Shawshank Redemption...
or there's... the Count de Monte Cristo...

if all are innocent until proven guilty...
what's that? the genesis story never happens...
it's hardly a moral deterent...
isn't it? people will do as any aleister crowley
would command them to do:
do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law;
this is a naive presupposition of
fudge-packed jurisprudence...
what should have been egg-whites..
it merely some sugar dissolved in water...

statistical counts aside...
i would be more inclined to... fear...
being held guilty... to then be allowed "innocence"...
that to being held innocent...
to then be forced as a doubly-culprit!
how does the double jeopardy paradox arise...
from the high pillar of: innocent until
proven guilty?!
law is at one's own leisure...
should all be bound to an innocence...
revisions of the biblical metaphor...

if we can all be innocent...
wouldn't we at least all fathom an innocent
attempt to break some law?
for a matter of: testing the waters?
even if innocent until proven guilty is true...
there's no narrative of redemption...
why is it that the shawshank redemption
is such a popular movie?
since it adopts the continental motiff of:
guilty... until proven innocent...
it offers... redemption...
it's a popular movie because it's unfair
for the basis of a single individual...
not some amassing of victims of a jimmy saville
recount... that have... none... zilch...
no redemption!
their redemption: ist tod!

because if i were to be found guilty...
with no chance of defence...
i would exercise a double-think in relation to this...
rather than exercise this leisure into
grieving the orwellian zeitgeist monstrosity of
but the one novel...

i'm not convinced of the english model...
this... innocent until proven guilty...
this pontius pilate argument...
i'm not for it! this sinking to the core of my heart
and hopefuly, prevents me from a heartbeat...
perhaps so fewer examples of
the #metoo would come to the fore...
if... one were not so easily allowed
a ststus of innocence...
perhaps... guilty until proven innocent...
doesn't allow...
so readily accessed accusations...
perhaps this modern, english model of
jurisprudence...
is missing a medieval lisp?

as law abiding as would suggest...
i would be much more deterred from inacting
a grievance should i be found guilty...
without a benefit of a doubt of a jury...
than if i were to be given the a priori: innocent
status...

i don't like this: england and greenwich in tow
is the bellybutton of the world
demand of... all else is less than we...
no... did i come from Algiers?!
what has Algiers to do with it and Leeds
shouldn't?!

at least that's how a man sobers up...
while still drinking...
he might focus on sober demands...
of topics that only drunks should speak of...
and since neither of the two meet...

because i have stood as a witness
in a court...
and i was given a photograph to...
"compare" having identified him in a mugshot...
the photograph i was shown still
had a date imprinted on it...
and this was the ******* argument...
the photograph was years old...
i identified the culprit in the police mugshot...
but the case was "won"... for no apparent reason...
the witness said: i...
this photograph is years old...
i can grow a beard and hippy attire in a year's time...
of course i was the witness that said:
note down the registration plate
of the car this camel-jockey jumped out of
and grabbed m'ah fwends mobile...

i've seen how: innocent until proven guilty works...
i'm not conviced...
i can't be... there's something instinctual preventing
me from adhering to this english...
jurisprudent sensbility...
it's hardly a ******* charles dickens novel...
if it were... and i greatly underestimated
charles dickens... no... really...
i shouldn't have read any of dostoyevsky...
i should have read charlie ****'oh'ends...
believe me when i say that is hould have...
since... heidegger's ponderings VII - XI
will retain their shelf-status as... the book most
probably unread...

such is the sobering process...
am i, in no way, allowed to sacrifice my 'ed
on the premise that: innocent until
proven guilty is the right categorial imperstive
to buckle on... since...
the anglophonic world buckles on it...
like a spectacular breakdance feat of
a penguin on steroids...
doing the diving header tsunami
of chore: the crowd goes wild!
it's no operatic applause and being
"superficially" reminded as to how...
find your proper seat...
before the castrato peacock does his
singing bit...
apparently finding one's seat
when it's never going to be a maggot-pit
at a slipknot concert is all that's
about to happen...

come by the butcher's and let's attempt
in finding you some oysters
among the volume of red boisterous...
to replica your genital parts
and sordid caviar letfovers...

perhaps i could be angry...
but la ilah illa blah'lah...
i am... halway bound between
being simulation circumcised
and being castrated...
i never which is which...
notably, given...
circumcised men are not allowed
the impetus of taking up
web-cam Susan on promise of...
also pleasing themselves
without wanting to earn some money...

it's a real problem though:
innocent until proven guilty versus
guilty until proven innocent...
relish...
the english indiosyncratic
wishing they were scandinavian iceland...
no... honey too sweet tooth bear...
this is not how the GMP affair that exends
with its genesis in the jimmy saville affair
looks like...
this quest for: apparently "superior"
is not going to work on me...
kin of a kind-of luvvie dubby...
bon voyage!

the entire continent is listening...
individualistic rights...
innocent until proven guilty...
the more i reiterate these words...
the more i sober up...
because i can't see how...
i am: a thief...
until i am proved to be... a thief...
by having performed the act
of thieving...
or not even an "after"...

sorry... please expose your divine
rational intelligence and tell me
via a reiteration that 2 + 2 = 4...

i am not a thief,
but i am a thief...
only if the act of stealing is proved...
and if "the" act of stealing is not proved...
i'm way more than a thief...
i'm a thief with a baby driver!
this anglican logic *****...
if innocent until proven guilty...
is to sustain the individual flourishing...
i'd rather make theatre of the original,
biblical deterrent...
a queen of this sort of popish claims
and her duaghters of yorkshire because...
the pawns of justitia...

conventionality of continetal thinking...
there's not even a "what if" or
"it would be better" should... allow,
extended into:
guilty until proven innocent...
rather than... innocent until proven guilty...

i sometimes find myself chattering...
in the cold...
but i'm not chewing anything...
i'm pretending to pivot the piano on a ghost...
being played as some per se magician's
excavation of: whatever time...
thus it was spent...

i call it chattering chopin...
bite marks available... like the multitude
of signature most willing to be...
allocated a collection foreseeable...

the would the artichokes of arabia...
or the fennel roasted roots of Italy...
there's something to be had of a woman
sporting the "cherokee" leopard-skin prints
on something that's...
90% cotton and 10% lycra?!

and the reason why i visited a brothel
in the past ten years was because?
if i want to play poker...
i'll play poker...
easy ***? it's not so easy in the act
and you want to find a kiss and...
she tells you: it's against the laws
of this sort of nunnery...
but you still manage to slurp a lip or two
of a shy pluck of the tulips of the sea...
or however this thing that
language is works...
if it's not going to be a hammer and nail...
forever... this "excuse" to allow nothing
more than YA novels...
metaphors and... pedantry of elswhere
from punctuation?

herioglyphic assumptions of :) emoji?
wink barrel baron! oi!
non-responsive...
black also implies: ivory beauty...
i started to admire their teeth...
since mine were always going to be
custard yellow death grin...
like bone to the rot...

no... i'm pretty sure tonight ends
here; now;
the prodigy - destroy...
given how... keith flint...
and that horse... and it was never a tale
of the stormy badger...
and how the fox is my aid and will
never make it to...
transcend the red coat hunting parties...
because... just because.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
that's the beauty of music: music will never lie to you... music can't lie to you... when Thundercat was supporting Red Hot Chilly Peppers i tried to think: please make this sound as vanguard as Miles Davis' ******* Brew... please please... nope... can't stomach this stuff... music can't lie to you... just like today... i was surrounded by people who genuinely enjoyed Ed Sheeran... me? i tried not to yawn... but i was... yawning with my mouth closed... i could only pick out two songs i really liked... SHIVERS and... before today: i wouldn't have guessed it... but Ed started explaining that his first success was more as a song-writer than a musician / entertainer... i would have never guessed that he wrote the song LOVE YOURSELF for Justin Bieber... maybe that's what was so weird... because i love the song... maybe that's why i didn't mind Justin Bieber singing it... because it was actually written by Ed... but that's it... two songs... music will never lie to you... music is the highest authenticity know to man... thank god i'm not a musician... but i was just standing there... indifferent... a fellow steward looked at me and tried to make me smile by putting his fingers into his cheeks and create a pristine imitation Joker... no... i'm not going to smile... so i stood there... buried my face in my folded hand as if to recreate an imitation of awe: pretending to smile with my eyes... music can't lie to you... it's a one man show... i'm more of a band guy... i like a lot more commotion on stage... the backwards and forwards between, say... Flea... Mr. Frusciante and Chuck... i love the idea of sharing a "burden"... music will never lie to you... that's why i'm not sitting down and trying to enjoy at least two hours of music i really like... KORTEZ... because i hate the idea of being indifferent to music...

sitting here at 2am, drinking the finest bourbon and
looking for the moon...
left the house at 9am and only got back home
after 1am:

i was so lucky getting back... caught the Metropolitan
line to Liverpool St and was sitting on
a train on platform 7 trying to understand my luck:

the 12:15am train to Southend Victoria...
    wow! it's stopping at Romford... usually these trains
only stop at Shenfield...
i usually have to slug it on a train that stops
on all the stops in between Liverpool St. and Romford:
Maryland, Forrest Gate, Manor Park,
Ilford, Seven Kings, Goodmayes... Chadwell Heath...
15 minutes later and i was eating a chicken wrap
and drinking a can of 7up... having to only wait
5 minutes for the 175 bus home...

now i need to relax after all the thrills of working
the Ed Sheeran gig...
      i need something completely different musically...
i don't regret choosing to do the London Stadium
shifts... with the Red Hot Chilly Peppers...
   hmm... Ed Sheeran live...
                  one man on a rotating stage in the middle
of the Wembley pitch...
    one man on stage...
                  you could say Pavarotti was also but a single
man on stage...

i don't know... oh sure: he was amazing...
   a sort of jack-in-a-box... but...
                        i don't think a single man can generate
the same sort of energy as a band...
it's a sort of yes and no answer... it's just so different
and it's so not so different...
                          
any diaspora of people around the world:
whether these be Somalis in England...
      Italians in England and America...
           the Hebrews pretty much everywhere...
i don't know how i managed to keep with
the cultural output from Poland...
           but there's a very decent alternative to someone
like Ed Sheeren: after all... he can be exported
to places like Poland... France...
     English universalism...
                       which is very real...
  
but? someone like KORTEZ? he couldn't be exported
out of Poland and become popular in England:
as much as there is an English universalism:
all other cultures are particular: there's a particularism
about them...
    i'm guessing of the language:
                        the Lingua Franca of the medieval
times Lingua Inglese of the modern times...

but songs by KORTEZ like: Z IMBIREM (with ginger)
   LUDZIE Z LODU (people from ice)...
BUMERANG (boomerang)...
HEJ WY (hey you)...
                              KOMINY (chimneys)...
                  
and all these songs live...

to be honest: the lyricism of the former is something for
teenager girls... maybe that's why i was sort of put off...
i need smart lyrics as i need good music:
but lyricism in English will hardly convey complexity
that a man could appreciate:
beside Peter Sinfield...

well... i might be living in Poland but i'm still
trying to keep up with the culture...
       because the politics doesn't interest me as much:
i know pretty much that there's an aspect of
a Japanese isolationism...
                     although: like the Mandarin Wall
of ideograms... the accurate phonetic-cutting
                          of words in ****** or the English
joke: too many consonants...

ha... szczerość... honestly...
                 Щero-
                       fair enough... i could almost create
a letter out of -ść since enough words end with these
two letters... like plenty begin with SZCZ (SHCH): Щ...
              
well... i'm not going to invest the equivalent Cyrillic:
impasse...

what made the shift a bit easier was having spent
most of it: up to 9pm talking and joking with a Somali...
women, life, drugs, work...
      work, drug, life, women...
ideas such as: i couldn't a Somali woman living
in England... that's why i married a traditional woman
in Somalia... she's living there with my two daughters...
Somali men who marry Somali women living
in the West: 5 years! 7! they're divorced...
because the women want to go out and party...
he's thinking about bringing her over...
       i think he's waiting for the 7 year itch to be
perfectly established...
******* Somali pirate... but i have to admit...
Somalis have the most infectious smiles...
the whole lot of them...
     a Muslim who used to drink and do drugs in
his youth and went off them after finding
his religion...
                again: even i'm tempted by the Shahadah...
but i'm a Qabbalistic mongrel of sorts...
when he was talking about Somalia being split
into three... hmm... that's interesting...
the English part, the French part and the Italian part...
post-colonial politics...
    but even he was saying things like:
but i hate the Somalis that collaborated...
    the Europeans came offered money and there
were some willing Somalis to sell their neighbours...

minerals... i allowed this conversation up to a point
before i revealed to him:
listen... i'm of a people that don't have a colonial past...
we didn't exist for well over 200 years...
we were carved up by the Russians, the Prussians
and the Austro-Hungarians...
        
i thought you were English?!
            yeah... i thought so too...
i'm neu-Englisch...
                        and when the Somali girls working in
the kiosk noticed me getting along with the Somali...
i managed to brag my way into getting a free
hot-dog...
   while the Somali... caged in the turnstiles
asked me to keep a look out for any supervisors while
he smoked a cigarette...  
    **** me... it's truly advantageous not being English
in London: but at the same time
having people think you are...

in the end we only had a few issues...
unlike a football event: when even vaping is forbidden
we were being kept being asked whether
people could leave the venue to smoke and be
readmitted... we kept tell them:
wink wink... nudge nudge...
   when enough people come... and the stewards
can't see you... ahem... ahem...
most people got the idea...

but some of the women didn't...
   no one checks the toilets... wink wink.... nudge nudge...
until i started talking to this:
she made it adamant that she was a law postgraduate...
good that i didn't tell her that i was a chemistry
postgraduate...
                 impress me: yawn...
we were disputing whether to be a law-breaker...
listen: i'm not telling you can smoke...
i'm just telling you that no one checks the toilets...

but this one scared me and Ishmael... the Somali...
she asked to be let out...
she was told no... but then i initiated the finger
on the lips as if to imply: shh... i'm going you in on a little
secret... she was genuinely offended
that i used this cue... DON'T HUSH ME!
i'm not hushing you...
        all ******* glassy-wild eyed...
defensive & neurotic...
              white... blonde... kept in a cage for the past
three years... i was surprised she wasn't
wearing a face mask...
                  
i don't want to break the law!
you want me to break the law?!
who do you work for?! the event or the stadium?!
oh ****... ladies and gentlemen! we have a sinker!

you're asking me to let you out to smoke:
i'm telling you i can but i can't let you back in...
but... i'm also telling you
that this is not a football event...
the rules are relaxed...
                     she gave me a proper fright...
i thought she was going to grass me and Ishmael up...
luckily she ****** off...

these two other bubbly girls approached us...
this was the first time i was told i looked ****
outside of a brothel...
we let them out... one "medical" grounds...
but we served them up a plan A (medical grounds
reasons, to have a smoke)
or plan B... crowd-build up... no one checks the toilets...

then this one guy with crowd anxiety...
agoraphobia+,
                       charged me with tears in his eyes...
Wembley policy is that not all disabilities are visible...
i had to let him out... he did return...
i have to explain to my supervisor that
the guy had psychological demons haunting him...
you can't just tell me that i can't let him back
in when he's obviously distressed...
thankfully that went down as a treat...

i'm starting to realise that people are dim when it
come to someone insinuating that: rules
can be broken... i know that a high-viz. jacket is no
symbol of the sort of authority associated with
a police uniform... but we were telling people:
it's the concert season... you're not football hooligans...
it's a music concert...
it's not a football match... there are no two opposing sides...
with that comes some leniency...
you want to enjoy it? or you want to make our
lives more difficult?!

wink wink: nudge nudge...
  
oh man... listening to KORTEZ right now...
what a welcome relief from the ordeal of being indifferent
to Ed Sheeran...
i have this co-worker who's dreading working
the London Stadium when Chelsea will play West Ham...
i was the same today...
being indifferent to Ed Sheeran being surrounded
by Ed Sheeran fans is sort of a ******...
i can't fake smiles... i rather hide my mouth in my hand
and look pensively lost in "admiration"
and pretend to smile with my eyes
than fake a smile...

      music will never lie to you...
                      i didn't hate it... but i didn't love it either...
there's nothing worse than apathy:
i've been told...
but then there's a play on words:
apathy breeds no pathologies...
   since? it's a pathology in itself... funny how that works...
it's almost 4am and i think...
thank god i'm not working tomorrow...
i'll get at painting the garden fence...
i'll vacuum the house... i'll go on a bicycle ride...
i'll stack up on *****...
    i'll make my father lunch... then i'll think about
making dinner...
    
hell... what a summer: what a summer without
a girlfriend...
Weezer, Fall Out Boy, Green Day...
Red Hot Chilli Peppers... Ed Sheeran...
    Walter Sickert...
oh right... ha ha... an hour into the event and this
guy walks up to me...
LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!
what's the problem?!
       i'm leaving! i'm leaving!
   why?!
              my wife is being a complete *****!
she's being an idiot!
i'm leaving... i'm going home...
   you do know that when you leave...
i can't... yes yes... I'M LEAVING!
   wow!              

thank god i didn't invest myself in the culture
of free ***... of hook-up culture...
thank god i went down the route: money on the table...
i can't imagine anything good being for free...
nothing good ever is...
   i would never invest myself in the hook up culture...
if it was ever going to be casual ***...
i'd need the sultry / shady avenues of nights
in a brothel...
         no...

oh... ****! i almost forgot!
while we were waiting for our shift to begin...
i spotted these four guys in the distance
playing cards...
i walked up and asked: so... what are you guys playing?!
blackjack... ooh...
can i join in?
sure thing bro...
        oh man... i almost cried... memories flooded in...
i remember sixth form... lunch breaks...
that's all we ever did... played blackjack...
reminiscent of Ernest Hemmingway's novella
Men without Women... men playing cards...
i forgot some of the basic rules
but i watched one round before joining in
and it was: yachts... wind and yachts...
and smooth sailing...
    i missed playing cards with guys so much...
the banter and the teasing...
the manly stuff of men... men without women...
******* utopia...
an eternity spent playing cards with guys...
women complicate matter...
they have this knack of isolating men
and turning men against men
because: in the end... it's women against women...
take women out of the equation
and when men come together...
they're playing cards and drinking beer together...

it's such a fun game...
much better than poker...
what are the rules? ha ha...
2s: pick up 2...
blackjacks: pick up 5...
red jacks neutralize...
kings reverse order of play
8 skip a go...
queens are slags...
aces change from either ***** to diamond...
and you can't finish on a power card...

i love this game! i was a teenager for a while
again!
oh man... i've written so many pointless details from today...
MUSIC DOESN'T LIE TO YOU... blah blah etc...
the highpoint was this ******* card-game!
maybe that's why i never became a gamer...
why i stopped on PS1... final fantasy VII,
metal gear solid...
         some beers, cards: ***** 'n' giggles...
parallel words...
    a man has... when it comes to his fellow men
and individually: with women...
playing cards or... going shoe-shopping with her?
playing cards... every single time...
even if it means not fathering a child
and not ******* on a regular basis;
   i like to keep my mind in order...

even the Somali said: you look young for a 36 year old...
even with the beard...
and we joked: you know why?
i don't have a woman... and that massive crescent
moon of a Somali smile conjured itself on his face...
yeah... we're relatable... laughter and the day
passed with a peace that might have made
angels jealous, if not the gods themselves;

**** me... even i sometimes find myself profound...
in a recent comment i wrote
about someone's concern for mortality
and enligthment:

deus in machina in perfect ratio to **** ex machina,
my frailty... against the infallibility
of trains or architecture...
the god inside the machinery...
compensated with the man outside of machinery...
and this backwards and forwards:
deus ex machina and **** in machina...
deus ex machina being the genius-ingenuity
of man... while **** ex machina being his...
stupendous dumbness when obliterated
by the artifacts of his fellow creature...
that's **** ex machina:
          the labourer is not the architect...
the nurse is not the heart surgeon...
              
               there's such a perfect harmony
to sharing toils... responsibilities...
just as long as the libido is managed and we
don't over-**** to create pointless middle-management
roles for people with little-****** complexes of
authority investment... we should be good...
but that's truly dependent on orientating ourselves
around what best way to fulfill our libido:
not careless *******...
    more people requires more jobs...
and that also demands scrutiny on a lack
of metallurgy in Europe...
                     etc.

             me and my new found Somali friend agreed:
neither of us could understand Western atheism...
i'm a Qabbalistic mongrel looking for a second schism
in Islam spearheaded by the Turks...
i'm not getting on my knees...
in a church... to give a ******* to a demigod...
after all... even Achilles could be equated on equal
footing... but he fought his way toward the zenith...
this pacifying of man with the suffering of but one
with shady dealings: arguments of "innocence"...
of course i'm inclined to the simplicity of Islam...
but also inclined to the complexity of Judaism...

but if i argue my case for blood in beef...
but if i argue my case for pork...
but if i argue my case for alcohol among these
two tribes...
blood in beef is healthy: iron...
pork? why be critical of god's creation?
you tend to sheep in deserts...
but when you're going to tame the boars...
you can eat everything from a pig...
alcohol? keeps you warm in cold climates...
but if i can have Somalis who drank and did drugs
on board... who found religion
after getting married and having children...

Christianity is a polytheism by this point:
due to its poly-schism...
i can't be a Christian... i toy with the idea
that i'm the reincarnation of Konrad von Wallenrode...
i can't defend what's already rotten...
mind you: i find the idea of reincarnation
repulsive... i.e. there's only a fixed number of souls /
individuals... that pass through zombie bodies...
that's... harsh... elitist...

thank god i can't go back to the gynocentric Christianity...
just read some Jung on the whole myth of
Jesus returning and ******* his mother
in the bridal chamber of the "uncircumcised"...
complications that don't require complications...
no... i wouldn't circumcise anyone...

best me: that last "leftover".
WS Warner Nov 2013
Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.


Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.

Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner
To Eileen
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
indeed, i finished the night off with a wolf's operatic ah woo! at the yellow lunar scythe.

i never understand why people, with such fascinating lives,  |
pre posthumous auto-biographic
with so much Don Juan  excitement would surrender to
being cocooned by bookworms,
the silence of libraries...
just last night i had the most lucid
and the most entangled experience
within the world of the living,
i so desperately want to write about...
but i can't...  i can't!
i want to, but i'll flush all the emotions
that went into experiencing the night
away and feel vane, which is hardly
apathetic, syndrome of atheism
a fake, a- (without) pathos (some sort
of pathology) -
**** it, the highlights, two mates out for a
drink, end up in the company of
a half-mandarin half swede (suede eh eh,
nudge nudge, buckle two stops of a torero
winky wink - nudge nudge of the elbow
only fools & horses banter);
graffiti on a book i carried:
dr. john marchent, LSBU,
london south bank university,
the science of chocolate*...
the scribbler? her name be... what
a ******* zigzag, got her surname
but her name i had to rewrite:
rhiannala                            fowler...
yes, the H is silent, it always is in english
unless it be a haystack of hyphens...
there were many more details regarding
last night, i could write them,
but when i once saw a girl getting spat on
by her "boyfriend"
and the way i spat kisses all over a girl's face
i think it's too painful to make details of...
a sly impromptu in polish with
a guy who was smoking hashish...
12 years over here... i don't know why i
kept associating his name with ******;
a fine Friday event in bohemian east-end
London... that's all, and yes, i seriously wish
i could do a detailed Proustian outline...
eating a ******* macaroon to delve into
the gaping hole of memory making 20 years
seem like 20 minutes...
of course i'll curse, pornographic over saturation...
obscenity trials my ***...
             i'm so ****** tempted to recount you
the night... the drinking Bacchus **** and laughter...
die sonne satan and what not mentioned...
           runes ironic third ***** ******* for good luck
    tilting to antagonise a clear upstart failure...
feminism and advertising,
                   comic book strips and something about
keeping a brand with an ethic worthy of anorexia
and gluttonous upheavals as the end...
               'and yes, i decided to become an Elvis Costello
    song because i thought my life was boring enough
worthy of a manuscript...
            if i had the life of a Don Juan, i wouldn't have
   bothered... me in a cocoon? n'ah,
me in a coconut sounds better...
          or as i wrote in my high-school memorandum:
  to live a bohemian life in one of the EU's capitals...'
and that's prior to the 2004 expansion,
even though i was sceptic - and to finish:
west end you get cosmopolitan culture -
east end you get bohemian culture -
               or as a quasi Mr. Portillo noted -
toff toff truffles too! yep, some ******* labour
coal miner descendent fanatic bemused out-loud
on our way for the night bus 86 -
where i was hit by an existential conundrum
about having this ethnicity bred
and this psychology acquired:
'i spoke to them native and they're thinking
i spoke Hungarian or Czech or Yugoslav! ha ha'
the two children were a wormhole into the past for me...
but for the love of god
you can't find steve wynn & the miracle 3's song cindy
on the internet... i have the album, but the compact
is scratched... and encode a scratched compact
into an mp4 format and your iPod is kung fu ******.            |

|represent a neurosis of a perfect width...
|should the middle ground be peppered
|with shorter stances,
|the first few lines have to match-up
|to the elongating caterpillars of the end -
|a kinda hug / embrace.
Sul-E  Jun 2019
Green bottle
Sul-E Jun 2019
There used to be a bottle on the wall.
It was very green.
I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle
that I had ever seen
It used to sit on the wall
all day and all night
And every day, when I looked out of the window,
it was always in my line of sight
Then one day, a cat came along.
Something was going to happen; I could tell
The cat then accidentally nudged it
and off the wall, it fell
When it had fallen off the wall
it had dropped with a very loud sound.
There were all these little pieces of the green bottle
all over the ground
Then the cat yelped
and I knew it had gotten hurt
I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in
blood and dirt
The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning
it did not look the slightest bit treacherous
but after a nudge in the wrong direction
it became very dangerous
Now I look back at you smiling
next to me on the big armchair
Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair.
You remind me a lot
of that green bottle.
In the beginning, you were harmless
you were all sorts of fun.
Now you hurt me.
Could you tell me why
as I don't quite know what I've done
Rosie Owen Apr 2015
Marriage is changing, from who can get married (37 states now allow gay marriage!) to who actually ends up doing it. Only 26% of millennials are married, a sharp decrease from 36% of Generation X and 48% of baby boomers, according to the Pew Research Center. But marriage isn't obsolete — in fact, in many ways it's thriving as we re-evaluate what the institution really means to us.

And with re-evaluating marriage comes re-evaluating weddings. The Knot's "2014 Real Weddings Study" found that couples are foregoing traditional wedding customs to modernize their nuptials through their choice of rings, dresses and officiants.

That includes — perhaps most importantly — the vows. Couples today are taking cues from badass brides like Amelia Earhart, who banned the word "obey" from her 1931 wedding vows, and reciting promises to one another that reflect the partnerships they strive for. Here are 12 real-life couples who vowed...

1. "To split the difference on the thermostat."

Why it's awesome: When Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston got married, Pitt pledged to "split the difference on the thermostat." While that partnership didn't last, as we all know, it was a lighthearted vow that highlights a crucial element of modern marriage: compromise. The key to a happy marriage is learning how to meet halfway.

2. "To be a true and loyal friend to you."

Why it's awesome: Marriages weren't always about intimate, caring partnerships between equals. But we know well enough now that the happiest, most long-lasting marriages are those in which partners see each other as friends (even studies have proven it true). Jevan's vows to Alithea, shared by the Knot, are a reminder that the bedrock of friendship is what makes a modern marriage stand.

3. "To communicate fully and fearlessly."

Why it's awesome: Among the traditional promise of partnership and faith, real-life couple Anne and Gabrielle told the Knot they vowed "to communicate fully and fearlessly" as spouses. In our modern world, we have seemingly endless ways to communicate — text, email, Skype, Snapchat — and yet still have to work to connect. Sitting down face-to-face, making eye contact and being vulnerable with one another is still crucial, as is being honest without fear of judgment from your partner. Emojis aside, that's what really sustains a lasting relationship.

4. "To grab your **** even when we're old and wrinkly."

Why it's awesome: As we become more open about sexuality (thank goodness), it's only natural that a wink and a nudge find their way into the wedding vows. In an open thread on A Practical Wedding, Zach and Kate shared their vows, which included the promise "to hit on you in awesome accents and grab your **** even when we're old and wrinkly." This promise to keep the spark alive even years down the line is no small thing. After all, studies have shown that all it can take is a simple touch to maintain a ****** connection.

5. "To value our differences as much as our common ground."

Why it's awesome: Love is a powerful force to bring people together, even when they're divided by cultural background, religion and, increasingly, politics. As society grows more divisive and we hold tight to our views, it's valuable to remember that our differences don't have to actually divide us, as these vows from real-life couple Greta Christina and Ingrid, told to Patheos, show.

6. "To continue to love your children, as if they were my own."

Why it's awesome: A marriage isn't just a vow to one person, it's a vow to an entire family — future and present. In 2011, Pew Research found that more than 4 in 10 American adults have at least one "step relative" in their family, including a stepparent, a stepchild or a step or half sibling. These adults are just as likely as others to say that family is the most important element of their lives. So it's no surprise that people have been adapting their weddings to encompass the commitment to an entire family, as Sara M. did in her vows, shared on Offbeat Bride.

7. "To comfort you when the Falcons lose and drink beer with you when they win."

Why it's awesome: As Mallory summed up so perfectly to Eddie in their vows, shared by the Knot, appreciating each other's distinct interests and actively sharing in them together makes a huge difference. It goes beyond just putting on the Falcons jersey: Sitting down for the game and sharing a beer is what researchers would call "shared leisure," and it makes a big difference for marital satisfaction. That football game is more than just a football game.

8. "To never try to hurt you just because I'm angry or tired."

Why it's awesome: The chaos of our lives means lots of stress, lots of late nights and lots of exhaustion. (Unsurprisingly, Gallup found that 40% of American adults get less than the recommended amount of sleep.) That can actually wreak havoc on a relationship, which is why it's all the more important to anticipate the challenge. Sarah's vows to her husband, which she shared on A Practical Wedding, are a promise not to take out her stress and exhaustion on him. Instead, she vows to trust him throughout the chaos, "even when we veer from GPS directions, schedules, itineraries and to-do lists."

9. "I have called you my life partner, my significant other, my longtime companion, my lover. ... Now I vow to love you always as my lawfully wedded husband."

Why it's awesome: The vows said by George Takei and longtime partner Brad Altman at their wedding, after the passage of marriage equality in California, were unsurprisingly moving, given they were 21 years in the making. As couples, straight and gay, wait longer to get married (and cohabit in the meantime), labels like "husband" or "wife" are less crucial for defining the relationship than the moments a couple has shared. Takei and Altman's wedding was not proof of their commitment, but rather a tribute to the commitment they had already demonstrated — a truth echoed clearly in their vows.

10. "To be your partner in all things, not possessing you, but working with you as a part of the whole."

Why it's awesome: If we're really striving for egalitarian marriages, then recognizing the equal amounts of work required by each half, as partners, is crucial, especially as women's participation in the workforce keeps growing (57.2% compared to 69.7% for men in 2013). In order for both careers to receive equal focus, a promise not to "possess" but to work to support each other is key. Much like Amelia Earhart refused to use the word "obey," real-life couple Alex and Michelle promised to be each other's "equal in all things" in the vows they shared with the Knot.

11. "I will love you no matter what makes my blood circulate, or even no matter what provides my body with oxygen."

Why it's awesome: Traditional weddings tend to be religious occasions, but with increasing rates of atheism and marriages across faiths, religion is taking a back seat to a more personalized expression of commitment. As of 2013, only one third of couples opted to get married in a church, and even more are removing religion from their vows. But that doesn't mean the vows don't appeal to a higher sense of faith — in the other person or in the world, as these scientific, "atheistic" vows, translated from Swedish and shared on Reddit, prove.

12. "I see these vows not as promises but as privileges."

Why it's awesome: Marriage might have been necessary decades ago, but these days it's more of a choice. So it's only natural that the vows we recite — traditionally a list of duties and obligations — actually reflect the happy choice that marriage now is for so many.

Yuval and Dina chose to frame their vows as honors, as they shared with the Knot: "I see these vows not as promises but as privileges: I get to laugh with you and cry with you; care for you and share with you. I get to run with you and walk with you; build with you and live with you." With between 40% to 50% of marriages in the U.S. ending in divorce, it's more important than ever that couples remind themselves that being with their partner is a privilege in itself, and one to never take for granted.

Source: http://www.graziadressau.com
Francisco DH Oct 2013
What's in a nudge?
Only signals that send your head spinning.
What's in a touch?
Only feelings that you can't help feeling.

Did he climb the rope I let down so he can be closer to my heart
Does he feel the confusion ,like I do, in his heart

What's in a nudge?
What's in a touch?
Could be something
but then again could be
Nothing
Dondaycee  Jul 2018
Satchitanada
Dondaycee Jul 2018
I once heard of name,
Am I death?
Because I never heard of it twice,
I never played the game,
I left it to the rest,
I don’t think it’s right that even the dead lose their life,
What is a legacy, if summarized,
Where’s the integrity if gun aside,
Hearing the melodies of summer nights,
Hennessey and jealousy mixing; some will die,
Memory was therapy, now it is Cherokee,
Longevity became cellularity, no longer a friend to prosperity because the scars attached reiterated a son cry,
This all started with a name,
If I’m escaping parliament, how is it logical to feel obligated to my last?
I tried to explain this to my class,
But I wasn’t named “teacher”,
Instead; a preacher,
And I Practiced what I expressed so that part of me; in the past,
Pardon me for showing class,
I did it because of past,
They taught me to see trash,
I taught me to see the math,
They measured success with material, to validate time,
I expressed choice, I measured it by what constituted the spiritual to validate mind,
These structures are constituted by thoughts that no longer serves a purpose,
With all this baggage, it’s inevitable to replace our self,
I feel innovative because I express what we forgot, they act like they never heard of this,
All this action and acting… it’s inevitable to mistake ourselves, un-appreciate, and deviate to a state in which we hate our self,
Personally speaking, I don’t take advice from people less successful to me,
Your thoughts aren’t medicinal if the archetypes that are habitual aren’t transmuting from distressful to a state in which you are happy to be,
That advice just isn’t attractive to me,
It’s more like I’m back tracking to find the root cause of what’s blinding your perception so that I can heal your expression by removing the thought of neglection and oppression so that you are able to think free,
And I don’t mind…
In the process, I’m judged and crucified,
I’ll reiterate; my intentions are to love and unify,
We’re stagnant because of choice,
If there’s silence in the voice, I throw a nudge to refine, that’s freedom for define, I’m bringing the awareness of choice so that it’s possible to decide on what we personally do with life,
I was stabbed in the back and forgave that,
I was stabbed again and almost resorted to my decision making tactics from way back,
Then came another stabbing that had me lying on the floor,
I got up, but couldn’t find my way back,
Then came a love, she needed an eye,
She took that and saw her way out, I let her go,
Leaning on a wall, I bumped into another,
I gave her my other because she’s a passenger; hetero,
Love comes in trinities; currently dependent on sound,
It was all I had to give; then debt arose,
The next love that came just wanted to hear her name,
I chanted Satchitanada, and that became a death note,
In trials and tribulations I resorted to love and nurturement,
I call this an understanding,
I created this path, there was no one to follow in this century,
If you can’t comprehend that then there’s no possible way for you to understand me,
I never had a plan B, I was dependent on faith,
Independent from wave, I road the waves,
I had to experience what others had experienced, and had to remember myself along the way if I ever wanted to see some type of change,
I played the game and had to retain the focus of me, when I attained the focus to see, all this weight pilling, I was losing my ability to breathe; I was getting hostile,  frustrated, thinking about choosing to lose my ability to breathe,
And it’s because I solidified the W to attract enough attention to reiterate me, if I died I’d be apart of the past with the others; they’d appreciate me, saying my name, expressing a memory lane that would bring change the moment you speak…my name and that’s change,
My arrogance seeks credit, convincing ourselves that we’re victims is easy to me,  
It was difficult for me to exist in this world,
That’s why I decided to live,
That’s how I kept my lid,
That’s why I continue to give,
If I’m bringing truth and love, then this awareness becomes easy to see,
I don’t care about no dollar *****,
I don’t care about your opinions on Donald Trump and Obama; Mister,
I care about our species and our galaxies picture,
I care about the success in reaching the state of nirvana and the help from seven sister’s ,
The Pleiades,
Believe in me,
I heard of a name once,
Does this make me dead?
If so, then my rebirth was captured in everything you just read…
Notice the name.
elizabeth acayan Feb 2015
I'll *******
if you want
because I want it too
I want your hot breath on my neck
as you come closer to me in the middle of the night
or day
I want the stubble of your chin on my thighs
when you explore my body
I want pressure between our hips
as we toss and turn in the sheets
playfully
violently
silently
And when it's done
I'll tell you 'I love you'
but you don't need to reply
even though I know you will
Just nudge me with your nose
or graze me with you fingers
*(inspired by elbows and knees)*

— The End —