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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
i started smoking cigarettes
with my ex fiancé (olé!),
after i started smoking ****,
aged 21,
i was so anti smoke
that i remember my tobacco stink
clothes being aired
after a night out at the disco (ha ha,
oldie, discotheque quack -
albeit disco tech', not disco phi reek
of sweat and elongating cheese limp
limbs doing the dance of pharaonic
irony to banana ram boom bomb la la lamb),
so i moved to the quickie of all addictions,
as one jazz fem soul said:
a cigarette is the most satisfying dissatisfaction,
in a span of five minutes...
so i see the young poets mention coffee...
where's the cigarette though?
oh right, you left it at the gym, on the treadmill
along with don quixote? i bet.
so i started smoking aged 21...
vocally i went from angelic soprano
among the mule smog thickening over cities
to a personal base baritone of a personalised
exhaust engine...
but when i reached the reach of the rhapsodic
thespian choking on his own ***** of
un-originality i started sounding like darth vader
playing the didgeridoo -
i know the smokers' cough tuberculosis,
but lack of nicotine does that,
and active ingredient missing, head spinning
carousel of carbon monoxide...
as they say... take in the carbohydrates...
off the top of my head nietzsche said:
god is dead... yep... true that, esp. now...
and the replacement? diet...
centimetres of calorie intake:
drain the fat from yoghurt and fix it up
with sugar tax...
you do that while i relearn brushing
my teeth, once a day,
with a pea sized dollop of fluoride paste,
~20 seconds of brush and rinsing,
my teeth don't look like worthy of
twice a year visit to the dentist to get the nicotine
stains off my mandible bones - clean as norwegian
rain... shame the beetles didn't write a song
about norwegian rain of acid, export from
old coal england on the industrial complex
pacified without a warring-industrial complex just yet,
awaiting u.s.a.
otherwise it's a compositional irony,
i like walt whitman, i do, i like ****-****** literature,
but then walter becomes pompous bombastic
when writing about a *******: the damnation
of all homosexuals: i.e. writing about prostitutes -
spare the details of your identity... tell me
the parts where you squeezed the orange out
into goose pimpled juice.
Hi dudes and welcome to the candle festival which is at Nara park behind the Albert hall and there is a good band on the stage playing classic 80s music
From the act senior college band a bit of survivor and abba
And a whole lot more
There are a lot of stalls  where you could buy a lot of great souvenirs for the young and the young at heart and there are many demonstrations like judo and drumming and sumo wrestling  and at sunset a beautiful candle garden will light up the night and the crowd is beginning to build up, yeah
This is totally awesome and as I am walking around you see people getting ready to do their demonstrations
Welcome back and isn't narrabundah college energetic
As they performed their great Japanese dancing and over at the demonstration area they have calligraphy Japanese style
And there is a drumming workshop under the trees near the food tents and the judo dudes are showing off their styles isn't it wonderful and then we had a duet from Gungahlin college and mate they blew me away with their fine Japanese voices and at the moment the stage is at intermission waiting for the school choirs to begin l am looking forward to that
And as you look around you can see the judo dudes and dudettes displaying their judo skills by lifting their opponents
Over their shoulder, and over onto the mat and over at the ikebana tent they are showing us how to put it together with a fine hand which means she is trying to keep the beauty and now the judo has finished and the sumo wrestlers are showing their skills and I would hate to meet up with them in a dark alley and as you walk over to behind the ATM machines the kids are displaying their drumming skills, there are kids from babies to toddlers and aren't they having a ball
Yeah this can really brighten the imagination real hard and the school choirs are on the stage displaying their singing talents
Yeah, this candle festival has it all, I didn't see much of the school choirs and Nara university high school but o guarantee they would have been great and the sumo wrestlers really had the crowd glued to the stage and on the main stage there is a smoking ceremony and the karate is taking up the stage and soon they are having a sake barrel ceremony and this is going to be totally awesome dudes
It is now 6:26 and now we will feature some great music from ms satsuki odmara (koto) and Robert stockee (didgeridoo) & dr yukihiko doi (Japanese court music) and everyone is listening to this fine music as they await the big candle garden ceremony which I hope this year is awesome and the party is well and truly on the way I hope it is a very good ceremony
It will like the, whole evening
And kids are flying kites as well as making lantern, it costs a bit but it is jolly well worth it if you have kids pulling on your jumper begging for something to do and there is an array of very good stalls if you are looking for an early Christmas present for someone in your family, yeah that is sooooooo!awesome and on the main stage there is George & noriko with their wonderful blend of blues and Japanese sounds and they will get the party started right, they will get the party started quickly right
Aren't George and noriko great they are getting the crowd into the party mode and I love how they yell out koupei too before this song but, mate this is music and party combined and
Everyone is gathered round the stage tapping their feet as await the lighting of the beautiful candle garden
As we are nearing the end of the first set of George and noriko, the sun is going down
Behind the tree and soon as they let out their last koipei
The night is nearly upon us
And those candles will light up the beautiful garden here at Nara peace park
We just had a very beautiful
Ceremony with the chief minister and enstiguished guests and as they light up a few lanterns in the candle Garden we are entertained by koto and didgeridoo and Japanese court music and I can tell you, this is very cool and o think the didgeridoo sounds totally awesome with the other instruments and as we look around each tree has blue green and pink lights, and I tell you that looks great and a lot of families bought candles to wave around and the music was great
And now we are into the last 2 acts on stage and George and noriko are coming out to yell out a few cool kowpei and I think this will be really cool
You see he sits down on his chair and blasts some great blues and Japanese Music
Or Japanese blues and they are showing us how to party, dudes
Saki saki saki is the sound you are hearing  as they are playing a Japanese blues song which
When he says saki we say saki
He says saki saki saki we say saki saki saki and they get their beer and yell out kowpei
And everyone is recording the music and finding out whether
It worked and then as George and noriko are introducing the next song and now it is time for the last song which is rad dude
Shake your money maker
Shake your money maker
That is the last song but I am hoping they do an encore which
Will be pretty cool  and then he yells out koipei
Shake your money maker
Shake your money maker
And I think I will shake my pockets as that is my money maker oh well they didn't do and encore as they are setting up for the taikoz drumming
And as they brought out the first drum and there should be enough drumming to last from 8-30 to 9-00, I think the crowd
Are cheering taikoz on as they prepare
Those drummers were totally awesome and very fit
I know I couldn't drum like that in a million years, I liked how the drummers moved from sequence to sequence
They must put in a lot of days a week rehearsing for that
And when the drumming was over I talk a walk through the candle garden and my phone conked out so I couldn't get a picture but I might have some
Photos of the candle garden in a couple of days
So that is it that is all
So let's shake your money maker to buy some saki saki saki and yell out koipei
Catch ya later dudes and dudettes
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i care, i really do...

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
  ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
   ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...

no, i do...
i'm trying...

   ha ha...

     i'm just imagining what
that one word
looks like in Hebrew...

the...

   ha-shem...
i.e.

     the-name....

laughing, but at the same time
saying the definite article
over, and over, and over again...

the the the the... v'eh v'eh v'eh...
"point"?!
   what point?!
calling a cactus a *******
cactus?
   or calling it
an semiticl headscarf?
  which is which?
a skirt just covering
the knee?!

    better ask your women
to wear gloves...
i seem to enjoy the fact
that the most ****** part of
a woman, are her hands...
geisha hands...

  and wrists i could look
at like i might an enjoy an hour
with a bottle of wine...

aha!
               tell me...

  what's the difference between
a didgeridoo...
   and a modern, nordic shamanic chant
akin to to the berserker warcry
in one of

heilung's song,
notably
         alfadhirhaiti
where the audience go mad
with fervor & fury...

      because didn't you know,
they say:
don't take to d.n.a. ancestor testing,
watch what you absorb culturally...
from what i heard...
the ugly vikings founded
the city of Kiev,
so they must have passed past my parts...

hidden Baltic -
grazing mother of soured milk
that intermediates
a stasis prior to yogurt -

no wolves in england...
    i'll pet a a fox therefore...

            scoop and swoon -
the baronical patience of
a shadow admirer.;

even if the Jews have abandoned
Europe...
what the left?
    
     is beside the origin of what
the crucifix constitutes...

          even if the Jews abandoned
Europe, what they pressed was
the antagonism of Greece -
they pursued ancient Greece -
until the world, and all matters Latin -
stood to understand -

         the Jews left Europe,
abandoning the pursuit of Greek -
penitent people, noble people...
   until the library of Nag Hammadi
emerged from
the sands of both time,
and Egypt...

   noble people... penitent people...
these Israelites -
these Jobs of disgruntled time -
   Hiob, Yob, Hiob, Job...

i am barren in wanting to "forgive"
the Jews...
   how they pursued ancient Greek
to avenge the emergence of
the Second Troy in Rome...
with Rome...

           no Greek will stand on these words
with an Achilles heel...
      the Jews pursued the Greek
revisionism of their testament
long enough...
      as what Nero found hilarious...
i take to wind and soul with
      a drunk mind,
                  but a sober heart.
cheryl love Jun 2013
He carried a didgeridoo
Then he disappeared
At about half past two.
The moon came into view
Which was very weird.
At lunchtime?
This is very true
The sun was due to shine
At this time
But the man tripped on a pole
And broke his instrument
He had fallen down a hole
Containing very wet cement.
Now as a mark of respect
Please do not laugh
Though I very much suspect
When the remember the time
The man with the didgeridoo
Met with his fate
At exactly half past two.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
die nacht  aus alle verewigung -
verewigung die nacht - in immigrant German
spoken - not spoken, hälfte, hälfte,
pork-chops go go got taken with Australian *******...
cos selling the body saved you with the crucifix from
selling something like your soul, hence the accord to
be ready for critique of selling the magic potion of drinking
iodine... i was a fetus back then... when the atom
**** got the plastic elasticity of tangling
to wanking a didgeridoo... magician's syndrome:
**** that tightened fist and i'll assure you
you'll get the white flag of piracy's peace:
meaning they never robbed the rich men, pirates
just robbed the artists... hey wooden plank,
knock knock... don't make me into a wooden chair...
take a creaking floorboard and make it into
a shimmy toothpick... knock knock... who's there?
Jude? Jude who? hey i'm Jude? Judy Jew who?
a Jew who chewed propaganda and hid Jude.
fair enough, Jude's the everyday Jew.
no, she's the Rabbi! Rabbi who?
the Sabbatical who knows who.
some say i know god.
well, good luck with that, mostly asserted
on death row.
at least that place is given a fabric of a team effort.
by the time i think about next week's trash
i'll have written something akin to it being
taken out into a pig's trough of what resembled
the dating scene in New York...
hardly reminiscent of the gay Utopia:
so much anger yet still only the vote,
so much anger yet still only the vote...
           the intelligence poured in, but the
quiff only wanted the algebra of x
to match it up to a presidential race success with some donor's
y, and later + and squared and equals to make
those family holidays affordable.
- winter-night... deutschekaiser....
i swear it would be cheaper to build a wall
around the middle east...
like the European Union really
wanted to invest in dates... cos we were
ready to make a Sabbath from a Ramadan...
like we waited for the loss of % on added debt...
we waited, and waited... and waited...
we got McDonald's instead... and that was all
in the inventory... and that was all in
whatever we got, if we got anything:
deutsche schmutzig machen... is that perfect
German muddy - herrbzigg - or alter
Philanthropist zigzag - howdy howdy **?
dots the avenue...
and the many riches coming your way...
make muddy, or muddied already,
takes one swipe of the credit card,
ends up with 110 to nil streaks of ****
bothered about Star Trek... and the cellphone...
and the extraterrestrials of Mexico (or he co & co; huh i?)...
got the gangrene green if you
like the Licorice tangle of blank Ovid saying:
mahogany, mahogany, mahoney... mama got all da
honey... n she got the 2Pac shaky shaky core blues;
mind the albino in the hood:
or Mars the red planet, Earth the brown planet,
scary they thought of dinosaurs with dragons prior...
didn't think of Martian life prior to government
conspiracies, way before Darwinism and crowd control...
life on Mars: well, it was once there,
long before dinosaurs, and bacteria and yogurt...
long before the circus, and the commuter caterpillar...
i believe that there was life on Mars,
given the timescale... it was there...
but it ain't there anymore...
                           which might explain the U.F.O.s....
don't believe the government's audacity to have
created something so phosphorescent Zulu
as to invoke an engraving of lawless Voodoo...
before we knew of dinosaur remains we drew dragons...
before we explored Mars we were given
the proofs... life existed on Mars, long before
Earth was made the 2nd laboratory of a deity...
then it died, given the life-cycle of stars...
Mars is rocky... earth is rocky...
whatever life existed on Mars in its full potential
is long gone... is this really as weird
as what pop culture makes of man and monkey?
kettle and carpal muscles evolving from
oysters? we really can become equally ridiculous to
the extent that we turn on each other...
it didn't take much to divide Hindu from Muslim
into India and Pakistan... this won't take much thought either...
i'm just trying to counter scientific negativism,
and counter the timescale of both physicists' big bang
theory and the anti-historical Darwinism...
i'm starting with life on Mars, at a time when
Earth was inhospitable... volcanic... i might be among
the many people treated as being "mentally ill"
when the government claims to be so advanced as to practice
such projections of phosphorescent objects,
when it's dumb as Donald *****... because NASA is
not theoretical enough... and the government seeks
control by claiming NASA isn't the end result...
the usual suspects: lies... and more lies...
the Venusian Art... the pick-up artists...
i read it, never tried it... wish i did... but i also wished
for a herd of goats too...
but that's the best explanation of sighting a UFO i have...
before Earth was made habitable, Mars came prior...
Mars is rocky... is Earth... our fantasy is about discovering
life on Mars... life on Mars left a long time ago...
it's gone... gone gone gone...
the sun is cooling down before it becomes a dwarf...
before the perfection of this glasshouse of plants and animals
Mars came before us... and it was perfect...
later came this whole God and Devil debacle and plagiarism...
the first supreme, the second mildly similar...
but altogether worse... i told you, a phosphorescent object
in the night is hardly a government project...
the government is not capable of such things...
if they are, then they're like a man with a 4 inch
***** telling a girl he's a millionaire and has a fetish for
watching his girlfriend get ****** by a stranger with a 12 inch ****...
do the match... get a mud-bath.
the Welsh drew dragons and the Chinese too,
long before the dinosaurs usurped the happy-times
next to a bonfire... i'm just like that...
life existed on Mars long before we decided to look
for microbes on that red Ayers orb...
i'd be looking for sodium rather than twin oxygen trapped
into liquid by hydrogen, then always alienating laws
by ice, the said liquid and vapour...
my theory is that the original life on Mars,
didn't experience hydro sodium chloride... i.e. the seas...
Mars had only sweet life form... given the Devil
plagiarised Mars with earth, we received the seas...
we received the hydro sodium chloride... salty waters...
so if i was heading to Mars, i'd be mostly interested
in finding sodium chloride (salt) than anything...
not life... if i was heading to Mars i'd be trying to find salt...
not life... salt... salt... salt... Angie Jolie film (2010)? Salt.
because we forgot our individual intuition,
and we chose to have individual intellect that might be
easily swayed, because of this we allowed
collective intuition to arise... which we couldn't
intellectualise, because a collective intuition gave rise
premonition, prophecy and such artefacts of similar attention...
no collective intellect could ever be grasped:
atheism and Christianity and Islam and etc.
are such examples of what we lost... once we gave up
individual intuition, to replace it with a collective intellect,
we couldn't revise individual intuition with an individual
intellect (how many adherents of Marx does it
take to change a light-bulb?) - so we invested in
a collective intuition, whatever you call it, it's maxim
is still unshaken with the words: the sun will rise tomorrow.
a line from Heidegger concerning this observation:
every man is born as many men and dies as a single one -
like me, how i discovered the difference between
the man and the mass, intuition and intellect...
how man reversed the intuitive continuum of animals
to converse with an anti-animal invigoration of
intellect, and transcend the continuum of replicas,
and therefore invest in embryo, or the book of Genesis,
"original", in that, also a continuum by ontological inspection:
i.e. continually revisionist... Einstein preceding Newton...
Orangutan Joe preceding King Kong was never
really going to happen.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
import: the northern tongue bespoke of the didgeridoo with the larynx as akin. północ ze mną... reszta gnije! a ja w twym oku jak dziób kruka wydłubie prawde raz - kraka - raz jeszcze na pokaz chociaż raz! bo ze mnie nie kura... jeno kruk! czemu? bo ty swym tłumaczeniem grzechu równasz gniew naprzeciw: w okolicy reprodukcji z tłumaczeniem orgnanizacji społeczenstwa jako wedle znaku (=) ktory też jest równaniem jako krzyż... a wiec jest naprawde wiarygodne to aby kontynuować wybaczanie niby grzechów i tak naprawde praw w rubryce niespełnionych pierw zamiarów?*

why then peer into the past without imagination,
and try to peer within the present with memory,
surely the present will not conjure any memory
had the opaque past any imagination,
i’d swear the burnish bush be nothing more
than what could be imagined,
not excess of skin on my phallus
as the shaft known as the female circumcised bit...
but i guess truth sidewinds while lies have the fortune
of walking a straight path into nowhere...
if there is imagination in the past i find it hard
to conceive phonetic images, i.e. letters being allowed in there,
and if future forsee such circumstance
i find it hard to let the future project images
as recognisable without a - z being recognisable first...
in order that they might be used... in order
that they might be used for ignorance’s sake if only that...
man remembers skeletons easier in terms of usage
rather than fully embodied canves of a van gogh
to say **** all... as most men do,
dating their mistresses for the first time in art galleries;
the fault of the past is that in terms of imagination it
cannot be re-imagined... but the future can be twice
remembered... given holocaust deniers...
simple... it can be simply denied because
what imagination would have conjured
reality conjured too much iron acidity of what went on;
please be intelligent when you read this,
i don’t have many readers and it’s already insulting
to ask my readers for intelligence; sorry.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
i really don't need another girlfriend,
who's younger brothers
and a younger sister make fun of
my voice...
     no i do, i really do...
               it's funny being compared
to darth vader...
             oh... with all the smoking
and drinking...
  a cow has two stomachs,
             i have two pairs of testicles...
and when i used to collect swords...
i let the little ******* play
with them... sure... they loved it...
well... if H'americans can own guns...
did i fall for that knife amnesty?
i have about half a dozen swords
in the attic...
one?
    i'd say about 70cm...
              a Hussar cavalry sword...
something akin to a polo stick...
  picked it up from a Jewish antique
dealer for 70 quid...
   lovely piece of work...
i guess this night is going to become
a Metallica fest of past days,
past memories, days associated to associative
songs...
   like the song from garage inc.,
           astronomy...
darth vader my ***...
you should listen to my godmother talk...
it's like a harp inside a raspsichord...
get the joke?
   but wait...
   that was last night?
  i know that drunks are terrible
liars, always too afraid of the previous night...
but... i'm a drunk with
rubric... and dedication...
make great pizza... not that i'm looking
for anyone to eat my pizzas...
but...
   last night... last night...
oh ****! that was last night!
tell me... how did the Buddhist master
their mantra...
  without ever having met
an Aboriginal?!
   i swear this isn't a dream...
i was doing the didgeridoo sounds
with my mouth...
      like the Buddhist monks do
in their... wherever the **** they
do their mantra chants...
        a complete out-of-body experience
for me... how it happened...
i lost interest in the music
i was listening to...
      Buddhist, or Mongol?
  both, i guess...
         weird experience...
a bit like taking magic mushrooms
and ranting about atoms...
in ancient Greece...
           it's like a... raspy toy of
breath, coupled with vowels...
           sometimes balancing on consonants
when the teeth play with the tongue
to invoke the lips,
on letters such as...
   M - mmm -
     B - ****!
              P -     pop!
an M is a humming with clenched
lips...
               there are other instances
on the interaction of
the lips, the tongue, the lips,
the palette,
         the larynx... the diaphragm,
the nasal cavity and the breath...
but... you know...
     i don't exactly feel like...
revealing everything...
i'll just keep...
  what i already know is, mine.
great pizza, homemade dough,
**** me... ever tried
the green pesto, mozzarella
and fresh tomatoes pizza?
genius...
                    great pizza and on
the odd occasion a didgeridoo mouth,
out of body experience
when having reached the drinking
limit...
        just to point out:
i'm not advertising...
                                just saying.
Aztec Warrior Aug 2016
Dream-Walk Sunset**

From the Highlands they came.
Even before we saw them
we felt the earth shake.
Drums pulsed,
feet danced
to ancient runes,
to didgeridoo
and haunting pipes;
danced to dreams come true.
000
From the Highlands
to the sea,
marching to those cliffs
over soft white sands
they came.
Magical Fae and Folks of old
traditional ways
where life and death
were just Gaia’s breath
in harmony with the rest,
a dream-walk sunset.
000
Can you see them?
There- they dance
to a sound so bright
you can see it
even in this dark night.
There- they float
on Witch and Fae spells
to set the world right.
There- all those points of light
billions and billions they
march to anciet songs
of magic held in the notes
of the didgeridoo
and Asturian pipes.
000
Over the Highlands they came
marching to the sea
and those cliffs
above soft white sands,
magical Fae and Folk of old
traditional ways.
Will we join them
in Gaia’s dream-walk sunset?
Or just watch
as they fade away?

Aztec Warrior/redzone 7.24.16
...thanks for reading... here is the link to some Highland Music,
"Busiindre Reel"  by Hevia
https://youtu.be/_ggXyv3RtiQ
Bows N' Arrows Oct 2015
My displays are astounding
I regress to an infants zeal
Because I hate everything around me
And need to tell you how I feel
Tell you things of sugar rain
And crystal  mines of lore
Cuddle my ribs with pure disdain
As my body washes to the shore
Hey man little village
Hey ya the leaves are brown
Hey man the trees are changing
Hey ya they're falling down
Symposiums with the fey are symptomatic of enchantment
(Or insanity)
Seeing beyond a day
Of desolute drudgery
The eyes in my head keep assuming I am dead
(Those whispers from the back of my head)
And the fear of living is the wound of
Re-living what another might have
Said.
Hey man little village
Hey ya the leaves are brown
Hey man the trees are changing
Hey ya they're falling down
Crickets outside are singing so
Sleepless nights feel less lonely
Cannot decipher which side of me
Is dreaming when I'm awake till
Early morning.
Hey man little village
Hey ya the leaves are brown
Hey man the trees are changing
Hey ya they're falling down.
Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Mark Toney Oct 2019
Green eggs, Spam and grits
Sam and Pam had their fill,
Then made their way to Main Street
Down WhoDat’s Whatsup Hill.

Waived "Hi!" to their neighbors
To show them that they cared.
All smiled except two who
Just stood there and glared.

Hulu Q Hopps and
His shorter half-brother
They came from two pops but
Shared the same mother.

Hopps came at them fast
So they quickened their pace
Sam and Pam flew past him,
Boy, this was a race!

Hopps huffed and puffed,
While shouting very gruffly:
"You better stop now, or
I'll treat you roughly!"

          "Just what have we done
           To make you so mad?"

"If you don't stop right now,
I'll do something bad!"

Pam and Sam finally stopped,
Turning right around,
Awaiting their fate while
Standing their ground.

Hopps wide-eyed and breathless
Finally stopped within inches
"Listen real closely now,
Your see Mr. Pinch is
Hot on your trail
Looking for retribution
Based on your failure
To give restitution."

          "We don't know what that means,
           We don't know what to say..."

"Doesn't matter at all,
Pinch is coming your way!"

Since Mr. Pinch meant
To slow cook their goose,
Pam and Sam agreed to do
What they learned from Dr. Seuss!

They asked all their friends
To lend them some help.
Eucalyptus, Betty Loo,
JaeJae and Miss Kelp.
Hortman, Octavius, and
Hopps stepped up to bat.
Even Kat came back
And threw in her hat!

Off in the distance
The Catawampas growled
And soon after that
The Terrormasu yowled.

Down came Mr. Pinch
From atop Mount Dumpit
In his impedimenta SUV,
Like it or lump it.

Rolling into town
Entering WhoDat's Square
Pinch shouted "Sam and Pam!
Are you hiding somewhere?"

"You must pay the piper,
I'm here to collect.
Excuses mean nothing,
Your pleas I'll reject!"

Pam and Sam stepped forward,
Friends forming a line.
          "Pinch, you won't get away
           With extortion this time!"

With that Betty Loo
Pulled out her didgeridoo.
The others pulled out
Their instruments too.

All began playing strong,
Singing loud and clear:

"You are hostile Mr. Pinch
And your breath reeks of stench
But we're stronger than you
So you can't make us flinch.
Mr. Pinch you are mean
So you better flee the scene
You're a ****** like no other, Mr. Pinch..."

They droned on and on,
A multi-stanza bonanza:

"You're a villain Mr. Pinch...

"You are ****** Mr. Pinch...

"You are nasty Mr. Pinch...

"You're a ****** Mr. Pinch...

"You disgust us Mr. Pinch...

Mr. Pinch screaming loud
With hands to his ears,
Made a beeline to his
Impedimenta SUV in tears.

Then Pinch did the math
Calculating the odds
He wasn't going to get
Anywhere with these clods.

"You haven't heard the last of me!"
Fist pumping as he shouted.
When he left, all WhoDat cheered,
Disaster had been routed.

Sam and Pam thanked their friends
In a way that befits.
A WhoDat picnic serving them
Green eggs, Spam and grits!
3/10/2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - My tribute poem to Dr. Seuss. Special thanks for this poem's inspiration to Theodor Seuss Geisel, an American children's author, political cartoonist, and animator. He is known for his work writing and illustrating more than 60 books under the pen name Doctor Seuss. The lyrics in the above poem are my own, as are the names of the characters and locations, but they were inspired by "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," a song that was originally written and composed for the 1966 cartoon special How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The lyrics of that song were written by Theodor "Dr. Seuss" Geisel, the music was composed by Albert Hague, and the song was originally performed by Thurl Ravenscroft. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
we're just as superstitious as our ancestors, we create fiction from superstition, we get the hots for haunted houses, the black dot on the bible like pirates... it's just these day, a person finding a £20 banknote would get superstitious about buying 20 lottery tickets with it, rather than a bottle of whiskey... and yes, our story-telling skills have diminished, it's more like dietary regimes these days... we pushed subjectivity so far down the drain that we're not telling stories anymore, we're simply regurgitating objectivity, facts after facts... less talk about surviving a tornado twirl and expressing the excitement from surviving such an event, and more: next! pocket that story, box it with the bar-code: adrenaline ******... we're not story-tellers anymore, we're on the verge of losing all plots... being exposed to polished narrations of Hollywood (hardly the case of being worried about doppelgangers, that was obvious in the 20th century) - as said: we like being bombarded with facts, we've stopped claiming narration for a commuting drive... we are the encyclopedia ~generation... well, we're way past being defined as a generational phenomenon... hence the quiz shows...  we started to hate the excitement of the subjective perspective, the parts were "we will never know", jealousy on this scale really killed it off... we weren't there, therefore it's untrue... coupled with this objectivity of: none of us were there, therefore it must be true... plate up ladies and gents! we're once more reduced to regurgitating facts, we're actually forced to regurgitate facts, we have no chance to score with emotions or personal thoughts... people only want to hear objective realities of our lives... we want uniform coherence like under Uncle Stalin... no deviation... none! i wonder what story will come from all this objectification... the usual, current affairs story, i blame feminism partly for this... the objectification of women lessened, and in came the objectification of everything else, as feminism has done, shoving its nose into everything from philosophy to history simply on the basis of numbers, and as to why there aren't enough women here, and not enough women there... my mother is a housewife... my father comes home with a satisfaction that at least one member of the family will not be stressed... add a second partner with stress and career ambitions and fairy-tales, and that's a house on sand-dunes... personally i wouldn't want to marry in any case... plus, feminism doesn't encourage the house-husband idea that Sweden has adopted... well... you'd think that the idea of househusbands would take off once feminism took off... apparently it didn't.

Darwinism is at odds with pop culture, i see these people
striving for fame like they might be buying penny sweets
in their hundreds, and what i find surprising
is that so much fame is being dished out,
me, jealous? yesterday i found
a twenty quid banknote on the street,
today i bought four beers and a bottle of Grant's
whiskey and i felt that: i owned the world -
yes indeed, a circus act - that's usurping
style of the khaki stormtrooper uniform...
a colon is also emphasis, without the italics...
it's not about grocery lists...
so many writers out there who put
the labouring over punctuation to others...
so many dyslexic still passing through...
mate... if you and me were *****... you'd
be tissue paper material, no, not even a ******
blockage waiting for the plumber...
or the ******* that sold condoms puncturing them
with needles for excess success rates of impregnation...
see, i peel the skin off, imitating Abraham's
madness at the excess, and cockerel
the **** like sunrise... all *sheered
;
then i put the skin back on... so much for improvements
that desired God's approval... might as well
cut off all the cartilage: nose, ears, nails
(i swear they share the same category... oh wait...
nails and hair... well, n'eh bother, cut the rest off
until you enter the realm of plastic surgery).
so yeah, Darwinism is really the guillotine at
the moment, see them, watch the shepherds herding
them, they created something a Marxist would
never ever understand... the fame class system...
not some rebellion of strong idiots
working the plough field fighting noblemen bored
in their salons with ****-*** their only
exercise and solution to the boredom of a busy world,
mind being in such a world...
or do as i do... half of scotch through...
second jazz record playing in the background...
jazz doesn't translate into headphones,
you need the space...
what worries me is its trans-generational absence...
jazz is the classical music thanks to slavery,
it would never have been born in Africa,
forget it... but it bothers me it wasn't manicured,
kept pristine like some Renaissance painting...
it quickly morphed into Eminem and Vanilla Ice
and all that rap that wrapped it up...
fair enough, i can give credit to joshua redman
and his back east... but that's about it...
so as i sit sipping my Mississippi scotch of whiskey
and cola, having listened to
sonny rollins' ballads, i'm onto kenny burrel's
midnight blue... it's the sort of high culture
that's easy to cultivate... but i'm not the man you
want to revisit the Beat Movement chemistry,
i care very little to talk over the jazz with my poetry...
no wonder talking over classical music ever worked,
hence i contend to parallel myself with Bukowski
in that respect.. i shut up and write,
imagine myself on the Faroe Islands, very far
from what makes me uncomfortable,
the nearest thing to Eden, some remote place,
a village of 20 people where everyone knows
how long they take to a **** and at what hours
(given there's only one toilet) - and yes, the brackets
are also useful to make an emphasis, so example, : and ( )
all combine pretty well.
but they really are losing a one-sided battle,
given historical Darwinism, excluding our modern
perks to get into the raw caveman antics
it can be sometimes very demeaning to consider
both attitudes, simultaneously or correspond or even
excusing our modernity with intrinsic sushi (the rawness
that breeds no home comforts) -
and given the whole popularity culture...
you expect people to remember anything in
the next 100 years? the opening of a century is never
going to be enough to allow for that century's momentum...
i might be living in the 21st century, but all
my influences are bound to the 20th...
and that's where i'll remain, a beggar with a rich man's
vault of compact disks... clutter and a library...
unable to reread the books i've read (unless in snippets)...
like that tale of Neoplatonism and Plotinus
and that relationship with Christianity, but the job
that Nietzsche put in to criticise it came short of
what the actual religion did to itself, the archaeology proof
destined at Egypt, finding works there and not
in Israel along with the Dead Sea Scrolls...
fascinating how they cut Isaiah in half and the historian
Josephus placing the innovator of the Sermon
during Nero's reign, and how Nero is the first reference
to the 666... well, you know, once you zero out the preceding
years, and start again... telling the time will hardly
matter whether b.c. or a.d. - what with Darwinism
and the big bang, the Copernican west... well the Copernican
"west" - what a crazy carousel - get me off!
and indeed, with certain words...
we have encoded approximations to what each words
denotes... the brightest gem in the vault is
Hades... you don't say it as Ha A.D.H.D. -
you say hay and then you say dees, like bees -
yes, whether the d is a below the equator
and is summer in december, or whether b is above
the equator and is summer in july...
so you encode Hades but actually say: hay-d-and-many-e's -
still can't figure out how to denote a plurality of
letters with the punctuation marks given by English...
at present i'm using the inadequate possessive article
route - Peter's, Mark's, the mountain's...
the article goes off radar when there's plurality
in the thing ascribed possession: mountains' heights...
hay-d-and-many-eeeeeeeeeeeee? get the picture?
or hay-d-and-ease - baffling language,
i feel like some aboriginal looking at it from Ayers Rock
going: kangaroo the **** and didgeridoo?
no wonder the tetragrammaton is the tool to decipher
this phonetic encoding... there are too many chiral
symmetries in this tongue.
so again... i don't know why poets don't bother
to repeat themselves, on what they first concentrated on,
like the many water lilies by Monet,
or the self-portraits from varying angles...
or how modern fame, in concept, condemned itself
to c.c.t.v. and a brick wall as to how history is
experienced with mainstream Darwinism...
how quickly the guillotine chops the head off,
the finicky base for democratic applause...
and how in 100 years people might wonder:
well, Plato ain't going to be usurped, Plato will be
treated with the same faithful bias
as a blank blackboard, the established norm...
(that's all e.g. to say, it's not necessarily the
acceptance of such a norm) -
we'll still be ushered to normality by starting
from either the bleak big bang, led to an even bleaker
and bigger bonk... or we'll be cavemen admiring viral
infections - and fame and aspiration to attain
it will truly become bleak... for in these days
fame isn't competing for being remembered...
it's competing for being seen, again the c.c.t.v. model...
and given our overexposure to datums (the Oxford
authority is a bit slow to recognise that... well,
unless of course the same meaning can be achieved
with the word data... unnecessarily datii?),
advertisement being only one such source...
and would i consider the self to be an illusion?
i'd consider it on equal footing with π = 3.14159...
a piece of information, not to the fullest extent
a delusion... meaning i wouldn't discredit it completely,
given that so many people fall for it's existence
when plagiarism tempts us to swing with it...
and that there's the private, the public, the showcased
use of it... but it's still so ****** annoying
to have the lazy crew use the northern barbaric
reference to that pronoun and discredit it by treating
it as merely a useful prefix for compounding words
together to express automaton behaviours, and to have
to lie back on the psychoanalytical sofa and have to
deal with the atom of: ego, superego and id...
                                     (neutron, proton           and
the many that that that      / its its its -
the id is actually a scalpel in psychiatry - the cursor or
vector or quiet simply as stated already, scalpel,
incision maker -
                               the superego? also known as moralising
Nietzsche's übermensch - nein! klein Adolf
kann nicht spielen mit du heute
);
well... might as well enjoy being trapped in
the stone ages from now on... because in between the cavemen
and ourselves, our contemporaries just called them
idiots (most notably the journalists) -
yep... only idiots separating us from caveman...
i must be double the idiot of wishing to be back
in the Dumas' France, or at the height of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth, when the Poles, second only to
the Mongols held Moscow.

— The End —