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Mateuš Conrad May 2017
she was enticing, i must add, but not the point where
i might find myself buying her jewels...
   and other symbols of the archaic statement of
reciprocated show of affection...
     she chose her own engagement ring...
                                 it wasn't much, by my standards
of wealth, but what mattered was the essential promise
of proposal...
                rarely does a man get "*****" into being
proposed...         so little planning goes into the affair
on man's behalf, that he simply regresses into a state
    of a procelain doll...
                      or, for that matter: becomes a st. thomas'
babushka doll: full of surprises...
        here's to it! an ode to oakheart!
                 a bacardi brew at 35% (imagine the arithmetic
that went into buying this liquor...
          how much less do i get from the standard 40%
dosage of *****? five beers? six? seven?) -
they don't even cite the spices used... or what sort of
wood the liquor was stored in... the *******...
          bold yet smooth & mellow taste?
  seriously?
    see... this girl really believed in the herr mannelig
story... myth... a knight becomes enticed by a female troll...
   she had this mirror she called to,
   and it wasn't the sort of story that you could
recount with the word: mirror mirror, on the wall,
   who's the fairest of them all?
         oh no... this image-projection was thick as the darkest
of all possible nights... she was a real trollfrau...
  a female troll... a gamer... a girl who was into
painting warhammer figurines...
               i had no complaint about that... after all...
she was playing video games, but encouraged that i read
bulgakov's: the master and margarita...
    which i did...
                 but as a 19 year old... her obsession with
the herr mannelig fable reached a pinnacle...
   and my once dear trollfrau became so so lost in her black
widow web of lies, that she was never resurrected.
        well i couldn't complain about her prettiness...
      i wasn't the one to judge what she noted
about her slightly large proportion of nose...
   but since she lied that she used to roller-blade
and hit the tarmac face-down, and this enlarged her nose
to slightly fatter proprotion?
         lies have short legs... lies are like dwarfs...
        it's not exactly zeno's achilles and the tortoise:
     in non-paradoxical language... one will catch up with the other;
obviously there is a time delay... but one can't remain
in the abstract from the other.
         she also wore glasses...
            and yes, even though i don't have to wear glasses,
i checked out the effect that glasses have on perception...
she thought she had short legs...
       wear myopia glasses for long enough... and you too will
imagine yourself several inches shorter than you actually are.
once i found variations of the folk song that she
really stressed to be her favourite,
      i found a woman's voice singing herr mannelig
as being the complete opposite to her first suggestion:
namely in extremo's version of it... a male voice singing
for trollfrau's narration? it couldn't happen...
   there's germarna's version,
and there's tibetréa's version...
                 which coincides with what i do on a very
rare occassion... like... watch the "eurovision" song contest...
australia? really? so why not include canada and america
in this farcical of all possible contests?
     the belgian song from the current year, 2017...
      i actually... i actually ******* liked it... blanche - city lights;
if this song doesn't win... i'm going to swallow
                        half a kilogram of chewing-gum;
there's only about 1 10th of decency in just contests....
the rest is eurotrash...
                             what's the real comedy... because feel
more embarrassed about their musical tastes,
  than about their ****** preferences... they'll speak about
their ****** this-that-and-the-other... than what music
they like, since they prefer being degraded by ****** acts...
than being degraded by talk of "embarrassing" music tastes...
   let's just say: it's not akin to sadistic ***,
   and talk of a taste in music, that's the sound of a hammer,
     pounding at nails.
Bardo Aug 2023
< So how far back can you go then ?
How far down the Rope of Songs can you go ?
You were a Rocker weren't you, you liked Rock n' Roll
In the 80's you had a Walkman, you'd be listening to tapes and songs on the radio
You also wanted to be a drummer once, you loved the power and energy there
But what about the early days though, I'm interested particularly in the early days
How far back can you go I wonder
Yea! How far back and what memories do they bring up ? >

Back in the 70's watching Top of the Pops every Thursday evening on the BBC, essential viewing
With its exciting Whole Lotta Love intro
It was something exciting, thrilling
Waiting to see your favourite Band
And to see the Charts, how they were doing
In the Seventies there was Glam Rock, my eldest brother and me we were always arguing and fighting with one another, sibling rivalry I suppose
If he supported United then I'd have to support City...silly stuff
He liked the band Slade whereas I liked...I supported Marc Bolan and T-Rex
Solid Gold East Action I really liked that song
It was very fast, he rarely did fast songs Marc
Telegram Sam..."you're my main man"
Metal Guru..."is it true"
Twentieth Century Boy..."I wanna be your toy"
The hair on your neck would stand up when he'd come on...
Slade were good though, secretly I liked Slade too, they had great songs
*** on feel the Noise/ Girls grab the boys..
Coz I luv you...Mama we'er all crazy now...
Skweeze me Pleeze me "You know how to squeeze me..."
But there were lots of other good bands and so many great songs
We used to play cards for small money...pennies, a series of different card games, and we'd put on records while we played
We even learned to play Chess and we started a Chess League between us,
We'd always listen to the music as we played.

The Sweet's "Blockbuster" with its intro of police sirens, it spent about 5 weeks at No.1 in the UK Charts...
It reminds me of...of Fish that song...Fish on Fridays, we used to have fish every Friday, I didn't like fish there was bones in it
I wouldn't eat it then Mam would get angry
One time she took a mouthful of my fish trying to prove there were no bones in it
Then suddenly she started to cough and splutter and choke
A Bone had actually got caught in her throat
I thought it was my fault, I thought I'd killed her
She had to go to hospital to get it out
I was going to tell her "I told you the fish was dangerous"
That memory just came back to me when I thought of that song and that time

Yea! I liked Marc Bolan and T-Rex, songs like Metal Guru, Twentieth Century Boy
I remember I didn't like the lyric "Twentieth Century Boy/ I wanna be your toy"
It sounded silly to me that lyric, I suppose I wanted things to make sense
And when he did that song "New York City" with the lyric
"Did you ever see a woman coming out of New York City with a frog in her hand"
I thought then he was maybe losing it a bit
< You...you were a very serious child then weren't you ? >
I suppose I was...like a lot of children are...maybe I just wanted things to make sense.

< I'm interested in the early days, even the very early days and the memories you have
How far back can you go ? What about the funny novelty songs ? >
Chuck Berry had a No. 1 with "My Ding a Ling" playing with his Ding a Ling, we all thought it was very funny
Stayed at No. 1 for several weeks
"Gimme that thing, gimme gimme that thing (or Ding)" was another funny song
"Mouldy Old Dough" by Lieutenant Pigeon a keyboard song with the constant refrain of just "Mouldy Old Dough"
Cat Stevens had a song "I can't keep it in/ I gotta let it out/ gotta show the world..."
Novelty songs were important, they'd interest even your parents
They'd pass a comment "Ha! Ha! That's a funny song"
< And there were sad songs too, weren't there, really sad songs ? >
"Billy don't be a hero don't be a fool with your life" by Paper Lace about a young bride trying to talk her young fiancee out of going off to war, he doesn't listen and never comes back, he gets killed
The Government sends her a letter, she throws it away...
"Seasons in the Sun" by Terry Jacks, 'Goodbye Michelle my little one/
We've known each other since we were nine or ten/ We climbed hills and trees skinned our knees...ABC's / O! Michelle it's hard to die when all the birds are singing in the sky..."
You'd nearly be in tears listening to it.
We used to buy Top of the Pops compilation records with lots of hits on them
Sometimes Mom would like a song, 'Stay with me' by the band Blue Mink
"Stay with me, lay with me/ Love me for longer..."
Always reminds me of my Mom that song
'Killing me softly with your song' Roberta Flack was another
'Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree..."
At school every Friday the teacher would have a spelling test, I used win it a lot, I was good at spelling
The teacher used to give some sweets as a prize, I used bring them home to my Mum.

The Eurovision Song contest (all the European countries would put forward a song), I remember being let stay up to watch Abba win in 1974 with 'Waterloo'
In their fabulous outfits...they looked like Stars, Giants to us, Norse legends from Sweden.  They were amazing!
And what about our own Dana, the young Irish girl from Derry who won the Eurovision for Ireland for the first time with 'All kinds of everything...remind me of you"
I was too young to be allowed to stay up to watch that one
But you could probably hear the adults shouting for Joy from the room below
Happy Nay amazed to see one of our own having done so well, being recognised, flying the flag for Ireland
And then there was seeing Thin Lizzy playing 'Whiskey in the Jar' on Top of the Pops, the first Irish Rock band ever to appear on the show
It was so exciting watching them on our old Black and white TV...an Irish Band one of your very own up there on the World stage
And what about Gilbert O'Sullivan from Waterford I think reaching No. 1 in the Charts with his lovely song 'Clair'
We thought it was a love song but at the end it was revealed it was in fact about a little girl he used babysit for...so sweet.
We used to get comics and magazines secondhand, bought at jumble sales (remember jumble sales)
There was a music magazine for young kids, mainly for girls I think
It was called 'Jackie', there'd be a few in our bundle
They'd have big pictures of all the current hearthrobs
Donny Osmond, David Cassidy, the Bay City Rollers
The young fans would go crazy for their idols
I remember Donny Osmond singing Puppy Love and his version of The Twelfth of Never...
"I'll love you till the bluebells forget to bloom
I'll love you till the clover has lost its perfume
I'll love you till the poets run out of rhyme
Until the Twelfth of Never/ And that's a long long time"...
They were beautiful words about loving, a forever love
And Baby I love you by The Ronettes "Baby I love you/ I love everything about you...
All singing about this wonderful mysterious thing called...called Love.

<Can you go back further than that?>
When we'd go up the village where the amusement arcade was
There'd be songs playing, there were dreamy songs
Albatross by Fleetwood Mac, A whiter shade of Pale by Procol Harum
There was an instrumental I remember called "Sylvia" by the Dutch band Focus
There was a lovely leggy blonde girl named Sylvia in my class at school
And yes! I think she was actually from Holland
(We had a few foreign girls in our class)
Y'know I think she fancied me...did Sylvia
She used to smile at me a lot.
I have a memory of being at the fairground in the Summer with its swing boats and bumper cars
It's roundabouts with the horses and swings, the shooting gallery, the stall for throwing rings over things and taking a prize home
I remember candy floss and ice cream cones
I remember playing the penny slot machines in the amusement arcade, all the different machines
I remember a song "California Man" by The Move... wonderful Summer days.

In the Sixties an Elvis or a Beatles film was a big deal
I remember A Hard Days Night in brilliant black and white
And then "Help" in wonderful colour
Trying to get a fabulous Ring off Ringo the drummer's finger... great songs
Watching The Banana Splits "One Banana Two Banana Three Banana Four/All Bananas going right through the door...
Remember The Monkees"Hey!Hey! We're The Monkees/You never know where we'll be found... We're the young generation and we got something to say"
Last Train to Clarksville, I'm a Believer... great songs too
Remember The Age of Aquarius "This is the age of Aquarius..."
The Sixties yeah!

<Did your Mom and Dad have a Singles collection, the old 45's. Do you remember?>
On our old Dansette record player Roy Orbison singing In Dreams and its B side Sharadoba a magical Egyptian sounding song
And also It's Over about a love affair breaking up
And its wonderful B side Indian Wedding, that was my favorite song among the 45's
It told the story of Yellow Hand and White Feather two Indians getting married
But then going off into the swirling snow never to return
Gone to the Land of the Rising Sun...
You'd listen to them over and over again those songs and that wonderful haunting voice.
<And what were you thinking about, what would be running through your mind when you'd be listening to those songs?>
I remember I wanted to be special that I'd have some special powers and be able to do great things
Something that would make me stand out and that people would be amazed
Maybe some of the girls too, would be very impressed.
My Dad he liked Jim Reeves, he had a lovely velvety smooth voice
He sang Billy Bayou 'Billy Billy Bayou watch where you go/ You're walking on quicksand/ Walk slow/ Billy Billy Bayou watch what you say/ A pretty girl is gonna get you one of these days...
He sang a lot of slow love songs "Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone and let believe that we're together all alone...
Anna Marie... Anna Marie
Four Walls to know me...

<Tell me about Christmas, the Christmas songs?>
Christmas was a magical time in our house, we'd have the Christmas tree with all the decorations and coloured lights on it
We'd have long concertina like decorations going from wall to wall, so colourful
And lots of glittery things
The songs... Slade singing 'Happy Christmas Everybody', Wizard singing 'I wish it could be Christmas everyday', Mud singing 'It'll be lonely this Christmas (without you to hold)' sounded like Elvis
Johnny Mathis singing 'When a child is born',
'Little Drummer Boy'...
In those days because of school and family you had a strong sense of belonging, having friends, attending birthdays and sports and community events and church
I remember the Christmas party in Primary school (Kindergarten), you had to bring your own treats
I'd only have some biscuits and diluted orange juice
Most people were relatively poor in those days
I was a bit embarrassed having so little
There was one boy and all he had was a bottle of milk to bring
Some used make fun of him, kids could be cruel sometimes.

I remember the teacher brought in a tape recorder once and taped every boy and girl's voice and then he'd play them back
I used dread when my voice would come up
'Cos suddenly the whole class would erupt in laughter
For some reason my voice sounded funny when taped
Even the teacher used smile
I felt so humiliated nay destroyed with them all laughing at me...
I remember... I remember singing the Christmas Carol 'Angels we have heard on high' with its chorus
"Glo..ooria, Gloria in Excelsis Deo"
It was Latin I think but I didn't know this
I thought we were singing "Gloria in a Chelsea stable"
I thought to myself "Jesus must be a supporter of Chelsea football/soccer club" heh!
We had Perry Como's Christmas album with the story of 'Frosty the Snowman' and 'The Christmas Song' ...
"chestnuts roasting on an open fire/ Jack Frost nipping at your nose/ Yuletide carols being sung by a choir/ And folks dressed up like Eskimos..."
And Bing Crosby of course, singing White Christmas
I think we all dreamed of a White Christmas
At school we'd sing 'Away in a Manger' and 'The First Nowell'
Y'know if I sing those songs even now to myself, I can... I can almost remember...

<What about the other songs you learned at school, funny songs, sad songs and the memories they bring up? >
There was a song 'Those were the days (my friend we thought they'd never end)' it was in the Charts
I think the teacher taught us it
The people in the song would be having a great time laughing and drinking and dancing in the taverns
But as they'd grow older their lives would change and they'd get lonelier and sadder...
'Puff the Magic Dragon' I remember there was a very sad bit in this song
Puff and his childhood friend would have so many great adventures together
But then one day, his friend he came no more (he'd found other toys to play with)
Poor Puff was left bereft, he slowly slunk back into his cave... this used to make me sad...
We did patriotic songs 'Roddy McCorley' (goes to die on the Bridge of Toom today)
We had a songbook at school, I still have it
It had lots of old folk songs
Oh! Susanna, Skip to my Lou, The Camptown Races
"Michael Finnegan beginagin/ He had hairs on his chinagin/ Poor old Michael Finnegan"
We used laugh at that song
"What are we going to do with the drunken sailor... early in the morning "
'Marching through Georgia' "Hurra! Hurra! We bring the Jubilee/ Hurra! Hurra! The flag that sets us free...a rousing song
The teacher would play a musical instrument, a melodica I think it was called
She'd blow into it and it had keys on top that'd she'd finger to create the notes
She divided the class into those who could sing and the others, the Crows she called us who couldn't
I was among the Crows
It made me feel bad being called a Crow.
In Primary school we used to play soccer during the breaks
It was usually the Boys from the Housing Estate versus the rest of us from the Village
There was never any tactics, the whole team en masse would just run after the ball LoL
I remember I used to get angry sometimes probably because of something someone had said to me
When I was angry I'd become like The Incredible Hulk
I'd go through the whole lot of them, beat them all
I was Unstoppable
I was the first boy in my class to ever score a goal using my head
The school would also have soccer leagues and we'd get put onto teams
But we were so small compared to the bigger older boys we'd hardly ever get a touch of the ball
But I... I managed to get a goal once which was unheard of from someone in our year
I was so happy.... delighted! My teacher even announced it to the whole class
That I'd scored... I was so chuffed
When I went home and told my parents though they didn't seem to think it was anything special....
My Dad he liked accordion music, he liked The Alexander Brothers from Scotland
They had a song 'Nobody's Child'
"I'm Nobody's Child, no one to love me/ No mother's kisses no mother's smiles/ I'm like a flower just growing wild..."

I used to sleep alone in my room
You'd be afraid there in the Dark on your own
There'd be a nightlight on the wall all lit up
A religious picture, the ****** Mary holding the child Jesus
I'd get Mom to leave the door open so I could faintly hear the voices downstairs
Sometimes I couldn't hear anything and I'd be afraid everybody had gone and left me
So I'd get up and sit on the landing listening
There was a few times when I'd actually go down the stairs
I'd be so relieved to see them all still there
I used sing songs in the dark to keep the fear away, songs we learned at school
"We're going to the Zoo Zoo Zoo/ How about You You You/ You can come too too too..."
Old MacDonald had a farm E-I-E-I O! and on that farm he had some...
"10 green bottles standing on a wall/ And if one green bottle should accidentally fall/ There'd be nine green bottles standing on the wall...
Sometimes I used recite poems we'd learned
"Two little blackbirds singing in the sun/ One flew away and then there was one... One little brick wall lonely in the sun/ Waiting for the blackbirds to come and sing again "
I also remember trying to recite to myself the multiplication tables...

<There were funny rhymes and nursery rhymes wasn't there? >
Christmas is coming/ The Goose is getting fat/ Please put a penny in the old Man's hat/ If you haven't got a penny a halfpenny will do/ If you haven't got a halfpenny God bless you...
Hickory Dickery dock/ The mouse ran up the clock...
They could be strangely violent sounding
Jack and Jill went up the hill/To fetch a pail of water/ Jack fell down and broke his crown/ And Jill came tumbling after...
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall/ Humpty Dumpty had a great fall...
Three blind mice/ See how they run/ They all run after the farmer's wife/ She cuts off their tails with a carving knife...
Girls are made of all things nice... sugar and spice/What are little boys made of/ Frogs and snails and puppy dogs tails...
Adam and Eve went up my sleeve and never came down till Christmas Eve...
I remember the early games we played, Snakes and Ladders, Ludo, Tiddlywinks trying to flick little plastic counters into a tiny plastic bucket, also playing draughts and marbles...

<Can you go back any further ? >
My Mom singing in the kitchen doing her daily chores singing some song off the radio
Dickie Rock an Irish showband singer singing
"Come back to stay/ And promise me you'll never stray/ I promise that I'll be true...
Sean Dunphy another Irish singer singing "If I could choose" (came second in the Eurovision Song contest)
Tom Jones 'The Green green grass of Home '
There was a lot of easy listening type songs on the radio Burt Bacharach type songs
Andy Williams, Englebert Huberdinck (Please release me let me go/ I don't love you anymore), Doris Day maybe
There's a lot I can't remember now
Val Doonican another Irish singer who'd made it big in the UK
(Had his own TV program for many years on the BBC)
He had a big hit with the song "Walk Tall"
"Walk tall and look the world right in the eye/That's what my mother told me when I was about knee high...
I remember one magical Christmas we got a present of a plastic projector
It came with several slides, they had wonderfully colourful cartoony pictures on them that told a story
We'd turn off all the lights and project it onto the wall
I remember it was like magic, the colours they were so vivid, they were like the colors off stained Glass windows...
The colour of things was very important when you were a kid, they'd almost create feelings inside of you
Colours came first... before words ever did
We often didn't understand the grown ups with their big words...
I remember getting collections of different kinds of toy soldiers and then staging battles
I remember collecting little toy Dinky cars they were called, that was their brand
And Matchbox cars (another brand) ... even today when I see certain colours of cars I am reminded of those old toy cars I used to play with... strange

<What are your earliest memories then? >
There was a question I always wanted to ask the adults but I never did, I thought it kind of funny and didn't want them to laugh at me
The question was "Why does Life always show me ?" An existentialist question even then.

We lived by the sea so you'd be lulled to sleep every night by the flowing up and flowing back of the sea... the tide... its gentle swaying back and forth motion
We had a black cloth picture/painting on the wall, a night scene with swans on a lake and an exotic house in the background with the Moon shining
It was so quiet and peaceful to look at...
My bedroom wallpaper had lovely red or pinkish roses
There was a colourful flower design sewn onto my pillowcase
It used to be lovely getting into bed with fresh linen...
I remember I used to get funny dreams even then, sometimes scary dreams
But I remember you were always safe 'cos in the dream you had a special ring you could put on and then the scary dream would go away (I've often wondered after was that maybe where Tolkien got his inspiration for The Lord of the Rings and Wagner the music composer for his music opera "The Ring")

<Can you go back...any further ? >
Going back further, you're almost falling off the edge of the world there
To a time... to a time when there were no words
When a child comes into the world they have no words
There's only... only The Silence... The Great Silence,
Silence is a strange thing, you can hear Silence
The fact that you can hear it means it must be changing from moment to moment
It too is just like a music, it's probably the first music
Without it there could be no other
The Music of the Spheres someone once called it
It just stays there in the background... glistening... your constant companion
Probably the first sound you ever heard, and probably the last you'll ever hear
It can grow very loud
It wasn't threatening, there were no monsters in it
Not until you went to school and learned words and heard scary stories
Did the monsters come
Words they can cast shadows... sometimes very long shadows...
There was a cot with wooden bars, I remember having a blanket with lovely warm colors on it, soft light blues and yellows, wooly sheep, Bo Peep or Bears or something
We had a golden coloured curtain with lots of designs on it in the bedroom
I remember if you looked hard enough you'd start to see faces in the curtain
Sometimes they would frighten me, they'd look very sharp and angry looking or maybe very sad unhappy looking...
I suppose today I still see faces, in my mind, in the great curtain of all my memories, all those I ever met and knew...

I remember looking at my Mom's face and not knowing what she was
Babies their a complete clean slate, have no words, they know nothing of this world
Gradually they warm to their Mom's affections and come to trust her and bond with her.
Because you had no words when very young there'd be huge gaps in your consciousness
When your consciousness would be completely clear and still
The silence and stillness would envelop you
... and there was something else... something else there... something deep in the silence
Out of it would come something very strange and quite wonderful
It'd come upon you suddenly...it was like your consciousness was changing, opening up
It was like you were descending into some great... some great complex
Your eyes would be closed but still you could see it and feel it... you were part of it
And it was so natural and so familiar...it was where you came from...it was Home
There was a first part that would lead into another part... and then another, all different
Yea, it had several stages and you'd pass through each stage from the outside going inward right to the very last stage... the very Source of Life itself
And you'd be completely at ease with yourself, you'd be completely at Home there
It'd come every night... that Special thing.,. that Special Place
Y'know sometimes when I see a little baby asleep in its pram, I know... I know where they are
Their away now, away in that Special Place
Far faraway from this world of care, so peaceful and so quiet there
Guarded by unknowingness and the Great Silence
With no fear or confusion there to bedevil it
Knowing only a relaxation so deep and a great Stillness within...

But me! I was the youngest in my house, I was always fighting with my brothers
And I was a terrible worrier just like my Mother
I'd be worried about school and the teachers, and trying to understand my (school) lessons
And there'd always be problems, arguments, confusions... humiliations and cruel harsh words spoken
At night I remember I used shake my head vigorously as if trying to rid my mind
Of words that had been spoken, words that hurt or stung...or confused me
I used bump my head gently against the wall
But no! I couldn't escape them... my peace it was broken now...it was gone
And that Special Place just like in the song Puff the Magic Dragon
It came no more...it was lost to me.

I suppose this is all I can remember, all I can recall
I guess this is where I must have come in
I suppose I must have reached the end... the End of my Rope here.
More a series of reminiscences than a poem, a bit like a meditation. No one ever writes about the very early days of their lives, it's a closed door, written off, a time forgotten, that goes unvisited. But perhaps there was something magical incredible behind that door. Everyone should maybe take a trip down their Rope of Songs.
RJP Aug 2018
Nina Simone, occupying ears singing about bed and dressers.
Sparsely populated
young couple
Interrupted by saying amusements.
Only two stops
I know where to get off

I knew to mind the gap
I'm a responsible citizen
Voter with a valid railcard
Only two stops
Purchased a ticket
Only two stops
I can not throw up in that time

I can not clear my system of over-priced beer
A niche in the market
Exploited in the name of money Making let's just raise them
let's charge extortionate rates for an autoimmune disease

Paying to support a normal drinking culture embedded into the narrative
Growing by in the western world Listening to Nina Simone
Only one stop now you'd never know what life would be like

Without loud pop charts entertaining a few leaving the others yearning the return of ABBA when times were simpler and people cared about Eurovision and illegal music was your own

“Tickets please”
He seems awfully jolly for a late night ****-shift on Arriva Trains Wales
Who's making him work and why's he So ******* happy about it
Real extra effort! Soul sapping in my opinion
Last stop gotta get off.
This is one's for any of the Welsh here.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
England played today, what a ****-up grandiose style, glass bottle like hail flew down on Marseilles, water-canons, all kinds of crowd dispersers, true grit on the former great, now belittled, nation-state in d' hood reduced to a pitch with 20 idiots running around kicking about Charles' 1st head, and too fidgety skeletons tagged to A.S.B.O.S. tags playing puppets in a rectangle... i stopped watching the match for a cigarette break, the free-kick went in, Saturay, Tesco closing at 10pm, i took to wearing an Australian Open t-shirt, i've never seen so many funerals drinking a beer on my way home - prior it it was all gorilla chanting and Tarzan... i only learned of Tsar Putin dipping his ***** in the **** of Crimea a few minutes later.

your typical Saturday night, next door  neighbour's
trying out an alt. Y.M.C.A. with disco funk,
i guess it spreads easily this day, feel the grooves
or lined Rodin - ape-**** up my *** -
music so loud coming from my neighbour's canopy
i should be asking for canapés - after all Euro 2016
kicked off, scarf-hooligans of Moscow made
Marseilles home-turf , two Brits at the draw
in hospital, faces kicked-in, real bulldogs,
asthmatics at the end of it - conversation turned into a tour
of the Cairngorms or the western outlets...
a lot of Scottish impromptu with **** **** freckles!
gee ginger! aye fucky ***** ****!
Anglo users love interchanging the vowels for emphasis
to differentiate geographic regions -
but this one book review got me -
entitled ***** state
by a feminist -
the ugly child abusing father is a punter -
listen, if it were't for prostitutes i'd be a priest
7 years in, acne on my Richie, one ****** in,
kiss on the mouth several times, hell, the guilt trip,
poor boy poor girl, skin cream lubrication,
talk of doctor's appointments, ******* a *****,
i'd get the Scandinavia model if the girls weren't fickle,
the hand is hardly a plastic surgeon of the female
genitalia ***** - bony M... you must be talking
about ******* - ***** M...
Jesus no more the son of god than the patron saint
of prostitutes... the poor guy feels the aches of touch
while the rich boys sushi off a stripper in Billions...
i don't have strong dialectical encouraging to dispute
or discuss - i too am too blame, ask my dermatologist...
so my neighbours threw a party,
on the set-list?
Cheryl Lynn - Got to Be Real; Oliver Cheatham,
Get Down Saturday Night; Edwin Starr - Contact;
and then the one off from One Direction - History -
the DJ suddenly experiences the jitters neurotically
changing songs before they finish - midwestern horror,
Ohio or Iowa hammer masscare, excerpt from
Pink Floyd's anti-fascist anti-educationalist march,
dangly on the Cenotaph -
persona qui umbra-grata (person agreeably welcome
as a shadow) - yep, me and the ex_machina routine...
i know the feminist argument smocking pipe handy
clean for more pages, but ever hear a ******* ******
or laugh with you? if i didn't use up the profession
i'd be the buying type abusive father forever,
who the **** needs **** trips when the moment can please
twos? i'd be up against a Cosmopolitan Magazine Quizzes...
the "perfect boyfriend" types, later coverage in
psychological advice columns... but wait...
all that ******* advice about something being indestructible
in us, about us, beginning with this keen appeal to
atheism already defaults a logic behind the essential
characteristic of the existence pertaining to a psyche -
by destroying god we also resolved to more easily disqualify
the in-destructibility of the soul,
constrained, a study of noumenons, with logic application,
as if with the omni- prefix to the non-essentials of god -
logic destroyed the compatible qualification of soul
ownership, reduced, it gave us the advent of prayer
and the necessity of a god, rather than our selves,
via souls - something without deductive parameters to
cursor and pre- of the experience quickened to
argument with dis- and later -qualificatio;
the кaцaпс fought with Mongols... you think there's
a fair bet for your hooliganism in Marseilles?
well... it all boils down to two identifiers of nationalism:
parade with the royal family near St. James' park
or gut a pig in the south of France...
Wales will not bow this time, given that they're
not getting paid for their national pride dribble,
they'll ******* up... make more adverts with your superstars...
strange that, well, America has idiosyncratic sports,
i never understood the cheese-ball of oval either to the throw -
yes, baseballs makes more sense than cricket,
but you have to understand rugby before you
start crowdsurfing your *** in nappies -
the high expression of nationalism is so Joker-faced
with the Windsor ******, nationalism and a king never match
up to how Mao or ****** would have it...
and the alternative is football hooliganism...
i walked for my whiskey and beer just after the 75th minute,
along the way i met so many funerals, donning my
Australian Open T-Shirt... well, you, know,
a different type of spectator sport - i heard the rabbis
of the oval where deemed cricket tourists when kicking
a penalty through the H architecture -
cricketers are tourists, oval jerker-offs are Wallabies...
Australia in the Eurovision song-contest... oh yeah,
i'm mad... mad about Abba.. Matt in Memphis,
an Eve Cassidy moment, Sia's chandelier cover-up,
the truest form of plagiarism - the cover is better
without all the computing morphings...
oh sure, i could play the dating game...
9 years in and i had two authentic ***** in my day...
one was a black single mum who took me back
to her flat in Stratford, dragged her baby girl from the bed
to the floor, and her baby son, didn't want me to
penetrate her, tucked my **** in between her thighs,
i stopped, was woken by her son in the middle of the night,
took him and laid him on my chest and we fell asleep...
so yeah, prostitution is ALL BAD... coming from a theorist
who hasn't experienced the drudgery of lives "unexpected"
via eventualities akin to Chernobyl... given that the most
paranoid nation scared and scaring others concerning
a nuclear holocaust is the only one to set two off... two!
Pearl Harbour was an army attack on an army base...
what the Americans did was just a very quick Holocaust.
dan hinton Jun 2012
To Tory, Lucinda and Brioche. The poem you deserve.*



She’s no good at being phoney
She never tells a good lie
She knows when I got to be alone
She tells me when I’m too high
She always walks beside me
Never too far too far behind
And whatever I seem to do
She stays in that good place all the time
Because no matter what I say
And no matter what I make out to believe
She will always be a special lady
Especially special to me
She’s got that heart of gold within her
She’s got the ability to keep the pace
She doesn’t take no crap from me
She’ll **** well put me in my place
And yet at the same time she’s gentle
She understands why I am like I am
And I know there will be soft words
Whenever I need a helping hand.
I think these women are one in a million
Richer than any gold or diamond ore
And I hope in the future that
Their boyfriends won’t want any more
Because they’re good women as they are
It’s quite plain to see
They invite me round to play cards
And let me watch Eurovision on TV
I’ve never been welcomed so much
I’ve never felt less alone
When these girls are around me
I don’t need to wander cos I’m home
And when I blow a fuse over something
That’s really been driving me round the bend
They just smile and shrug their shoulders
When it’s time to start over again.
She is so good to me, it’s true.
I know I have many faults as a man
But when I see those eyes, I’m not stupid
I know how lucky I am. X
Mateuš Conrad  Jun 2016
1958
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
February - 45,000 people in one week watch performances of rokabirī music by Japanese singers at the first Nichigeki Western Carnival.

February 14 – The Iranian government bans rock & roll, claiming that this form of music is against the concepts of Islam and is a health hazard. Iranian doctors warn of the risk of injuries to the hips from the "extreme gyrations" of rock & roll dances.

March 12
Billie Holiday is given a year's probation by a Philadelphia court following her arrest and guilty plea on narcotics possession charges in 1956.

In Hilversum, Netherlands, 'Dors, mon amour' sung by André Claveau (music by Pierre Delanoë, text by Hubert Giraud) wins the third annual Eurovision Song Contest for France. Domenico Modugno places third for Italy with 'Nel blu, dipinto di blu' which, retitled 'Volare', will reach No. 1 in the US Billboard Hot 100, and will win two Grammy Awards next year for Record of the Year and Song of the Year for 1958.

and amongst other things, Sylvia Plath writes a poem,
a modest insertion to the world of history and chess,
but nonetheless more spectacular -
all that candy, all that ******* candy,
the smiles the pristine pomp - the goody suede shoe gimmicks,
but there she is, ravenous woman of the swamp,
one of the Graeae - question is, one tooth cannibal
shared or one eye to see Pericles?
ever wonder why poets solely keep the Grecian myths
alive and not involve themselves with saintly tales
akin to Assisi? boring as cow **** fried with shrimps,
that's me and father jack (father ted, a sitcom)
on the matter... but seriously, the celestial beast that
Sylvia Plath is given her housewife circumstance,
no girl this dying age would write such magnifique
superstition - well, that's pomp in-itself,
i don't know, call me stupid, but globalisation is
hardly an argument to expect being well informed,
i have a graveyard for a library, or the other way round,
i'm reading books that desire to be kept in a winery,
for example... well, anyone will do to fit the following
words: a château 1865 - pompous ******* 'n' all,
but you see, what gets me going is 1958 and the poem
Perseus: the Triumph of Wit over Suffering.
i don't care who won the chess tournaments,
or if Elvis was a high-tonne larder than usual -
whatever the hip-replacement tactic of Iranian doctors
was like, for ****'s sake... this is a religion that
puts emphasis on prayer and "music" five times a day...
the Islamic call to prayer is sang, it's not hamstrung,
it's not smoked salmon, it's not Catholic petition
murmur, it's sang... ting a lick'ah ling...
******* church-bell uvula (i know i swear, oath words,
i told you, in polish kurva is a conjunction word
akin to the Achilles heel,
mind you, a cure seeing **** than seeing f&!k
might help with the **** addiction, and...)
i mean i wept listening to an adhan once,
but please don't get me wrong,
if you'd take Mozart to be rain tapping,
and a bunch of cooking saucers to be a drum-kit what then?!
i don't like Islam for one reason... i love music too much,
and, from the way i see it, Islam doesn't like music,
even though i don't like castrated choir boys either
penetrated by the almighty papa who pretends to
be a Jew with his kippah, i'd rather listen to music than
that godforsaken recitation about 72, and how
pomegranate juice will sustain me better than
a whiskey on the rocks... the end, pa pa!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
St. John, the Evangelist, wrote the book of revelations,
the Latin world immediately thought
it was aimed at the Hebrew,
but the masochistic lacerations of the Jews
left intact, hardly slave-worthy, hardly imaginative
to build a Coliseum, instead worthy of
the hanging garden of Iran and the pyramids..
skyscrapers of Manhattan with only one room in
it, and some ***** trap passages to reach the riches,
like at Giza, when one hoped that one
sand people left the Koran for another sand people,
an it was all Brothers Grimm fairy ending: happily
ever after... the book of revelation
chapter 13 verse 3... how did i survive a brain
haemorrhage and revive a fully functioning
skeleton so quick? ask Rasputin,
no, i'm pretty sure Rasputin would care to mention
the poisoned *****... level the bastion square of
former William conquering, the Bastille echoed in
history like a footprint of a peasant standing ground
to what became downfall, and subsequent harvest...
an Austrian woman undermined a shy man
by giving out metaphors of cake...
she understood less when lionel logue was
worth that banknote of cinematic endeavour...
Stephen "shaky" Parkinson ploughed the lot...
saints like rats i close numbering,
one atheist attacked the woman of Calcutta,
another atheist attacked the man of Wadowice...
i would like to think that prior nationalism of
my forefathers meant something, in the least
ensuring i stay in the lands of potato and *****...
i was given the chasm of childhood's decision
having not clear basis for rationality,
as necessarily escaping what i wished eternity to be:
a bike ride of 60 kilometres in summer,
and hardly anyone wishing to diffuse my balances...
poetry is a cryptology, once it encounters symbolism
of sedated phonetics it comes across philosophy pausing
at Egyptology... the triage, tri, angle, primed 90
heading toward the crown or a rebirth of not acknowledging
the prime leisure of caesarian and reinserting the head
to wobble into the longest Nile of cluing divisions
as based on lost imagination: science has simply evaporated
chances of imagination - scientific imagination is reduced
to schematics - concrete arithmetic procedures
and paying attention to nothing while playing games
hardly resembling the japanese square and the karaoke culture
readying only teens to buy the crap...
imagine being an adult easily paying rent,
having a marriage, a dual life as a homosexual e.g.,
having left school, and mastered life with fancies
to be later equivalent of a G.C.S.E. grade in your personal life...
the book of revelation does not address the Hebrews:
written by Greeks, it was written for Byzantium,
that the Arabs clarified Aristotle sooner than Byzantium
is this obsession with bureaucracy - st. john
was also a mr. smithy joe-joe... the greeks lost the plot,
the book of revelation addresses greek naiveness,
it doesn't address Hebrew stubbornness,
given that: every greek would nod to avoid being
member of the Holocaust, while every Hebrew would
nod to engage being member of the Holocaust...
but still the Polish question... who were given neither
reparations by Germans, nor were included in the
Marshall Plan... but were given a "de facto" system
of economics that was "bound to fail", you'd need
one Pole to be a pope, to be later a saint for this to be real,
for the great dispersion... ever see a Polish girl get spat
on her face by her "master" dutch boyfriend when
speaking civilised tongue about her ambitions?
GERMANY WELCOMES SYRIA... that's Poland's
care for receiving reparations from Nazis, point no. 1.
point no. 2, Israel is mentioned in Eurovision
and in the European football championship...
oh come on... get comfy in your promised land!
the irony is that Australia is contesting a voice from too!
a torn apart revival? it's hardly a revival if the
lettering didn't disappear and wasn't replaced by arabic,
thank us for your allowance of earning money,
digitalising us, toward a perpetual analysis without
care to synthesise anything unusual that wasn't already
unusually analysed to this needle-point of
a unit of tsunami synthesis - comparably a year denied,
zeroed, convergence of the algebraic trinity with
all three unknowns: x, y, z - the book of revelation addresses
the foolery of the greeks, so much wisdom prior,
and yet so much foolery and laziness kindred to
the holy text of the hebrews under the prophet's name
Malachi... Muhammad has the leverage, being
a prophet-merchant, rather than a prophet-pauper -
bogatemu wszystko wolno.
Jane dale May 2014
Eurovision, a crock of ****,
We are never going to ever win it,
Our European cousins we know,
Hate our guts, that we know,
A song for Europe, it's not a fix,
But everyone, their neighbour picks,
Ten points to the country next door,
We are an island, it's just **** poor,
It's a shame it's not about the song,
Politics are involved , it's wrong,
Enjoyable it is to watch the tunes,
The judging is the same old news,
You only need to see a map,
To see why voting is such crap,
Poor England bottom of the shelf,
Even if represented by Christ himself,
I try to switch off at this stage,
Perversely though, I stay to rage,
Although to watch I cannot bare,
I hate it when it's just not fair.
im watching eurovision to see if the britz can win
or will we just be last again and take it on the chin
will we get some votes will they just be low
we can only try simply have a go.

there are many countries with songs of there own
singing songs a new that yet unknown
politics are used as the votes come in
it is such a shame really such a sin.

we will have to wait until the votings done
waiting for the news that brits have won
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
ever find yourself,
perched on a windowsill...
amid the spectacle
of the night,
having forgot to play
video games,
   waiting for the mating
calls of foxes,
the moon being
in full-bloom...
and how,
having cast your
eyes on, otherwise,
unfathomable
  objects,
of disgraced telepathy...
come the blooming
illumination
of, objects, at night,
screaming: quicksilver
from the depth of an
unseen demanded
vibration!
             it's almost like reciting
a litany of Milton,
with Moloch,
the egregious fallen angel:
another semite god,
befallen to succumb
to the spell...
the caravan
of the tetragrammaton
not taken-in...
                you really want
me thinking to purpotrate
the vector?!
        curb my tongue....
    i implore you!
                you made an innocent
act of *******,
into a riddled
    receiving end of
being "forced"
to give birth to...
                  how about... no...
you are no voice
of a -crat...
   now überlegenmutter...

jude mit die hauseland...
the jew...
has finally become
replaced
to fathom a home...
a land...
                    i will just...
leave the jew play
the yiddish ****
among the arabs...

                 out of europe,
beside kazakhstan,
australia,
and israel,
in the eurovision
song-contest...
   you just leave
the jews performing
the solid part among
the arabs...
       me?
                  just make sure
the jews remain
      out of europe...
what... calling poles
both nazis and...
whatever is left to call them?

happy holidays to tel aviv
via the florida
bunker core...

   do i?
do i?
              no... not really!
like the british:
i just don't like being
made dictum people...

    no... you're right...
i never felt inclined
to feel anything of
Lawrence of Arabia...
to feel... associated
with the camel jockeys...
i guess, i forgot...
       oasis hallucinations
came between us...
   rich people of Mecca...
something i wished
Shakespeare would have
lasped up,
countering the merchant
of Venice...
with a merchant of Mecca...

i tend to forget the camel jockeys...
should i, or shouldn't i?
jihad and the Iberian
reconquista...
but... a jihad only happens...
when you have previously
owned the land?
no?
               no...

       so... the land you're trying
to claim... was never owned by you...
was it?
        **** me... the stigma...
surrounding the Germans...
but not a revision of the treaty
of Versailles...
or pope Urban XIII's announcement...

  how the French get away from
any guilt,
because of their pastry...
  and kissing technique...

     **** a French girl:
be a ******... Napoleon:
short man, bad!
                 moustache man good?
you can't win!
forget winning!

i like seeing the origins
in hebrew with no
european past...
  which basically makes
all germans polacks
and all polacks germans...

hell... if you want to play
that sort of game...
             sieg heil!
                          etwas heil!

happy, now?
no, i'm not here for a safety-net
of anglo-saxon risqué
humor...
    the kind that requires
canned-laughter...
           for a t.v. show...

i seem to have forgotten
to laugh...
when comedy...
became...
too... explanatory...
too... excuse-worthy;
basically, too... english.

so... it's still funny...
when it has become
1970s stale...
                no-man's land
"refreshing"?
    it's funny...
   it's funny because it's
obvious...
or because i have
              to explain it?

the latter format?
that's not funny...
          that's just the basic
for a bankrupt language;

if i were a narrator
at the nadir
of the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth...
i'd be one and the same
with...
   i still remember
the dying embers
of the British Empire...
when Hong Kong was
given back to the Chinese
by Tony Blair;
how similar...
               i would be among
those who would cite
the same sources of
decadence
being exacted upon
the to and to tow a
lost amass of the heaving
earth toll.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2021
Diwanit bugale
May you blossom, children
Didostait bugale Come near, children
Ar serr-noz hag ar gouloù deiz Dusk and dawn
Roit kalon din-me Give me courage
Aon 'm eus rak hon dazont The future frightens me

Tomm eo d'** kalonoù The country people's wisdom
Furnezioù ar re a-ziwar ar maez Warms up your hearts
Hag ar c'hleuñioù o tihuniñ And the waking slopes
War an douaroù 'tro al lenn du On the lands around the black pond

Diwanit bugale May you blossom, children
Ar stourmoù kalet, an emglev The hard fights and agreement
Ganeoc'h eo 'teu komzoù didro You speak straight words
Ha brav e kavan ** toare And so beautiful is your way
Da safar 'r yezh To use the language
A ra diank din, siwazh That I miss, allas

Diwanit bugale laouen May you blossom, children
Ar menezioù melen The yellow mountains
Gant hiraezh d'hor gouelioù kent With the nostalgia of the old celebrations
'Tre ** tiweuzoù ar wirionez Between your lips is the truth

Diwanit bugale May you blossom, children
Gleb ** taoulagadoù dre forzh c'hoarzhin With your eyes wet from laughter
Ha didrouz ** klac'harioù And your sorrows silenced
Diwanit bugale May you blossom, children

Diwanit bugale May you blossom, children
Ar stourmoù kalet, an emglev The hard fights and agreement
Ganeoc'h eo 'teu komzoù didro You speak straight words
Ha brav e kavan ** toare And so beautiful is your way
Da safar 'r yezh To use the language
A ra diank din, siwazh That I miss, allas

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-DuuDQff7o Eurovision ,96
Referencing Fawns use of kalonoù, I found a song that uses it better than I can:
http://www.diggiloo.net/?1996fr=

— The End —