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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
i'm reaching my own very secondary hell...
this reach into... something of a nieche,
something of an echo chamber...
something of a jettison approach with regards
to almost everything...
the voice in my throat is no longer
necessary... some variation of:
this ethics and this "philosophy" is a bypass:
it's not a bypass...
i might just as well be "saying":
i haven't read a single book in my life...
which implies: i haven't read the required reading
either...
but i have read several books and...
among the contemporaries alongside
the shared breath... i have a library that's pretty
much a graveyard...
i'm hardly mastering some: in vogue...
old ideas come crashing down while
all the others are kept intact...
perhaps as honest as one can be...
i have... read... books... by... dead... people...
will alexander... a california poet is still
alive... i seem to have...
stuck to the living in the medium of cinema...
and music...
yet i still managed to balance it out
with a nostalgia for old cinema...
and old music, german, folk...
but i'm shy when it comes to:
darwinism explains everything right, and "wrong"...
i'm just practically tired
of being the turkey being shoved
darwinistic idea-stuffing down my throat...
i'm tired of darwinism...
long ago... a "philosopher" would be someone
who... overcame past mistakes...
or whatever...
one of my prime past mistakes?
taking a ****** relationship with frivolity...
if i wasn't using a ******:
she implored: don't use it...
god knows how she missed the *******
impediment to begin with...
i'll take contraceptive pills...
impregnation... phone-call...
i'm pregnant... well... you should get an abortion...
what were the chances that she moved
from novosibirsk to st. petersburg...
to edinburgh... that she would: settled for
moving to the outskirts of London and live...
with the parents of her would be:
father of the child...
and the supposed father being "merely" a roofer...
oh i've learned my lessons since being aged: 21...
the only honest **** these days
is with prostitutes... who are oh so careful about
contraception...
we would even talk about it...
since 21 and i'm nearing 34?
how many relationships apart from...
casually picking up a thai-surprise in a park etc.
how many? to be ensnared by:
a lasp in judgement with regards:
the ****** doesn't bother me...
the ******* does... but i can't be rid of it...
how many relationships?
0... i was given the moral scare from that
one... ahem... "relaxed" relationship...
pro-life implying: there's no guarantee...
this is already: a dollop of mustard on a spoon
as dessert if you please...
since 21 though?
it was always going to be a safe bet...
prostitutes...
hardly "*** slaves" as...
the women i know would not wish upon
themselves... a lottery of impregnation...
there could have been so many ways she could
have ensnared me...
pristine John i ain't...
but this period of time... nearing 13 ******* years...
wow...
wow... it tells you something...
because this pro-life contra pro-choice "debate"...
via: so while i *******... that's perfectly alright
in terms of: imagining a genocide with you?
because it's only life...
when coupled to a woman's body...
i don't like this pro-life argument...
not when there's "sensibility" concerning:
how far along?
contraception, yes...
but there has to be some time-reference
with regards... both parties can admit "oops"...
i don't see a point of:
i ******* there's no pro-life argument...
because i should be ******* "on a whim"...
since i... oh! this is the male argument...
i ******* into you... therefore you have something
of me... therefore you must have it...
oh... i see...
because i honestly don't get it...
if we made an honest mistake...
and you want to ******* into frivolity...
by all means... i'm no chain no baron and you're
no serf... matter of fact... this same girl is on
her third marriage... if i was her first and
we were engaged and she was 19 and i was 21
and, honestly... if you lived a life back in 2007...
it was ripe with magic...

but since then... that phonecall and: i'm pregnant...
and we were already beside being engaged prior...
and i was like: what?
it's not you're going to move down to London
from Edinburgh just for my looks...
she didn't say: i'll get it aborted...
i said: you should get an abortion...
a pro-choice man... at 21 and this litany of
excuses: mind one more?
to not have had ***... i proved that...
me and about 9 prostitutes proved that...
when there's a clarity of transaction...
there's no worry about contraception...
those precuations are prime...
the heart is a feeble liar when the *** is free...
imagine...
due for ***... but there's no...
"gifts"... there's no liar of the heart to mind
when... i have no excuses?
this happened 13 years ago!
i should have hoped to be freed from this...
"conundrum"...

scatological... william f. buckley jr. interviewing
allen ginsberg... and this word crops up...
it's somehow the covert expression fundamental
marker...
scatological... there's this avant garde of
poetics and how...
when poetry ascribes less images and...
teases philosophy...
that's no fair game...
but when philosophy employs short-cuts
with metaphor or imagery...
then words are no longer skeletons
and juiceless prunes... or whatever is demanded...

but that's the problem:
i only managed to love once...
or... rather... **** to the zenith of my efforts...
and bypass the goldberger skin-leash too...
because it was never about being satisfied...
but about seeing: satifaction...
and this old chestnut will haunt me
to the point where i will no longer be a chanced
ghost solo... but a ghost in a story...
and i don't mind the future...
i already know that i'm standing
a plateau plough moment of... resurrection...

for my time is no more linear than
the experience of gravity...
but... since i'm not falling...
and i'm either standing, walking, or sitting?
then time is not so much linear...
as it is circular...
after all: i am bound to a ******* carousel, aren't i
or aren't we all?
i was expecting circular time long
before people conjured up:
a pioneering linear "ontology" of time...
time moves "forward" without
the confines of history and within
the confines of technology!

after all: who to better the spoon!
the improved staff! a crutch!
the improved horse... a talking donkey!
but again and again:
why should my life be so precious
as to stand outside the circular nature
of time... to stand, alone...
in the prized linear...
from beginning middle and end...
why so?

of course the baggage and: if anyone, notably,
myself, should engage in any further
intimacy - beside the brothels' delights...
no... the money the clarity of transaction...
there are no flowers... no anniversaries...
i can't remember the last time i bothered
to celebrate my own birthday...
i tried that once...

what's pro-choice again, in terms of man
and responsibility or simply not *******?
13 years and that same cautionary tale...
i knew i wasn't going to make the same mistake
and relax myself into love...
because i don't think a woman should
be left barren with a pro-choice conundrum...
it's as if: you have to force the choice upon her...
otherwise it's called a golden ring...
and there's this whole flamboyant procession
in a church and two otherwise estranged families
come together and there's all this and that and
the other and afterwards the *****-licking
starts and blue and pink and a baby several months
later...

oh right... the argument it's a blessing
and that irish luck of a spontaneity should you...
when all the other couples are left
limping because of one wooden leg
among the four that should stand ***** and:
oh gaw on gaw on gaw on gaw on mrs doyle -esque?

imagine telling a woman: you should get an abortion...
because those contraceptive pills didn't
exactly do the magic...
and a ******* is already a discomfort when
you decided to learn from the Donatelos of
the boogie nights movie set that
peeling it back... for the aesthetics of a circumcision...
a ****** was the last of my worries...
well that's better than allowing a woman
to make that choice herself...
honest to god and st. patrick the gnostic gnat...

obviously i'm paying the moral consequences
of these words...
was it true is it true... it was a telephone call
and i was already busy trying to...
have to bother not... a chemistry degree is
worth as much as a humanities and this
bilingual status is not really anything
if it's not arabic or... otherwise...

why wouldn't i have made precautions in those
years?
if going to a brothel is a way to escape
the impregnation conundrum?
if for the sake of recreational ***...
*** without consequences... tennis ping-pong ***...
if that's what's being sold...
and not the monogomy quack-**** with
a boquet of moral verbiage...
yes... i made that mistake...
but why would i have a moral authority
over a woman's choice... she ghost jerks-me-off...
we perform genocide of ***** into
tissue... flush down the toilet with
crocodiles and we later baptise ourselves
as dove resurrected coming from the shower
having down the no. 1 no. 2 and no. 3
on the throne of thrones?

did i ask for my phallus to make
it into the ***** shortlist?!
i wouldn't think so either...
i'm no model with either a face or a little richard
for that matter...
perhaps men call it heart-break...
while women should call it...
fried-eggs...

a poultry abortion a day...
keeps the ****-of-cuckoldry away...
at least among professionals there's
never that: oh i like like likey...
let's have ourselves impregnated and then
kumbaya ourselves with: shtrong...

'cause if you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it...

oh... i would have...
but... how does this contraceptive contract work?
'cause if you like it, then you shoulda
sly impregnate yourself or what the hell
am i talking about?!

ce-no-bite...
go figure...
because no ******* is some day-dream victim
of the feminist movement...
the ones that are killed, probably are...
if you had enough time to talk to any of them
without priest of psychiatrist nagging you...
lying naked... talking about a 15 minute quickie...
talk, lips, kisses of the eyelids...
inversion of sculpting a crude block of clay...
god's plagiarism etc. etc.,
is this even a celebration: oh yes it's a celebration
when two parties know the perils
and have contraception as their prime
concern...
not some loved-up happenstance
teenagers...
because wisdom is what supposedly happens
when you make a mistake aged 16 and
later, live to be 69 and utter some
*******-wanking's worth of a maxim!

and by god everyone who hasn't read
a philosophy book... thinks that philosophy
happens in old age... that philosophy is not
fashionable for the young... or the middle-aged...
how, old age, philosophy...
dementia... "wisdom"... it's also called
the optical illusion... or the detriment of youth...
since? at least a portion of the lessons
of life must be learned...
beside the technical relax of technical details...
the old lessons of life persist...
and these are always archetypical...
the archetype never dies...
that's its most demanding access...
to: if i currently had a 13 year old son
named... Isidore...

what? there was a Peaches Geldoff...
Isidore is an old name...

because what's the difference between
a pro-life man and a pro-choice man?
the pro-choice man sentences himself
for sisyphus with the claim of baggage...
i did not have the required
resources to claim a moral responsibility
for what would eventually become
an onomatopoeia of me talking to it...
that would transcend a more sorry
state that a new-born lamb...
that would learn to wipe its own ***...
that would not choke on peanuts...
that would learn to not be gullible...
not entertain friendship with good faith...
that would... at best...
become this shadow of solitude of its
father's own demise...
but i rather rob a woman of this choice...
that allow her to bask in it...
as it would be her, responsibility to undertake
such a choice...
again: if this irish reasoning stands...
this ****** reasoning stands...
me, tissue, toilet, flush + ******* = genocide!
but a woman oh a woman can
stream it! video it! she's shooting blanks!
so... a lapse... not until...
not until... is a ***-shot pregnancy readied?
how much can i own beside
these stones that i stack to fathom
a shadow and not a morality,
nor an architectural feat to overshadow
mountains using pyramids?!
well... among sand dunes you, you just might
figure out this wild dream,
this wild ambition!

i will still persist in lamenting that:
i own a private library that mostly constitutes
of death-ringers...
it's slyly called a necromancy...
they arrive in my lap as former living:
now ascribed to dead on paper...
and the dead that they are...
recoil from the ashes into the skeletons
of words: and they walk among
the living inside the horde that i am...

and as they roll in their ***** graves
to a dance most stupendous...
their eyes burning and their ears pricked
to attention over a raindrop
bound to savour the disgruntled sea...
in both the magnanimous effort
that pouring a liter of water overshadows
the raindrop... or pouring hot oil
and pork scratchings with onions
into a soup...
balloons perhaps pop! but that well-known
sizzle!

a body with the demand of
two shadows' worth of remark...
whether true, or fictional...
better my choice over her "choice"...
and the consequences?
both the realisation of responsibility
as the nagging curse of shying
away from them...
focused on? the lack of material
conventionality for:
the up-coming, better life...

hmm... learning from the past generation?
they managed to work hard
and sight the Maldives...
i? if i didn't travel solo?
would i have seen Paris?
Stockholm... Moscow and St. Petersburg
are not a given...
but perhaps this one last time:
before i go... to the Faroe Islands, one
day i might... i just might...

what gambit assurance?
the moral high-ground of pro-life...
for a child... that would live...
a life worse off than his father or mother?
the life-in-itself "argument"...
as far as i am concerned...
this verbiage should come to its own
conclusion any minute now...

it's almost strange to have to recount
something that's 13 years old...
lucky me, lucky year...
i'm still not convinced as to why
darwinism can be allowed to explain almost
everything in life these days,
esp. when mingling with sociological "issues"
and how everyone should be readied
for rubric testing their bible knowledge
as their knowledge of either Orwell or Huxley...

"philosophy" once the "love" of "wisdom"...
how does trivia come into all of this?
to have to amass an encyclopedic know-of...
i am, also, a trivia focused spew-recycle-machinery...
darwinism around every corner...
there's no scientific fact the public are exposed
to that doesn't have darwinism at its center...
nothing of scientific popularisation
is ever not about darwinism...

not even Einstein... once upon a time...
it has become so overtly: universally applicable...
in psychology... in...
yawn... if it doesn't have a darwinism patent...
it's either part of the dodo project or
an existentialist cul de sac...
and my god, this momentum...
oh it's certainly not wrong...
but it's always so right: so many times...

come to think of it...
i probably haven't read any books to begin with...
i shouldn't have...
all the ones that i have read...
are never going to be in vogue...
they were in vogue... 50 years ago...
60 years ago...
they're not in vogue now...
they might as well start yelling at me:
pretentious literary ***!
should have abandoned us in high-school!

oh right... there's till the living Knausård...
come to think of it...
who the hell discovered Stendhal in high-school
if it wasn't me?
come to think of it...
i took that ****** bus no. 86 every morning...
and i can only remember seeing myself
read...
back of the bus and that Montgomery boycot?
didn't really help...
the loudest always went to the back
of the bus... took some neo-**** blonde scalps
with them for ***** and screetching licks...
and... just ahead... a silence of reading
Taoist maxims...

nice to know... that i'm still able to write
such explosive spew...
counter inhibited and "thinking"...
this like any other...
mildly exagerrated with a whiskey stew;
rummaging and rummaging
over a brain-pickling!
Anton Nov 2020
Pintuan palang malalaman mo na,
Na ito ang bahay ng mahirap na pamilya,
May nakasulat pa sa itaas na "Welcome to Miano Family" at " God bless our home".
Mga katagang matagal ng iniukit ng panahon,

Pag pasok mo ay sasalubong agad sayo,
Ang mga mga kagamitan na bigay,
Mga gamit na pinagsawaan na ng kapit bahay,
Mga Tv, relos, at orasan na di na umaandar,

Sa iyong unang hakbang iyong maaapakan,
Ang mga lumang tarpaulin na ginawang floormat,
Upang takpan ang madumi at maputik na  sahig,

Lingon ka sa kanan,
At makikita mo ang gawa kong hagdanan,
Hagdan na mayroon lang tatlong apakan,
Ngunit di kelangan mabahala,
Pagkat gawa ko iyan, kaya dapat magtiwala,

Sa iyong pag akyat makikita agad,
Ang kahon na sa laki ay sagad,
Sariling gawang kahon para sa speaker at amplifier,
Di sapag mamayabang pero kalahating araw ko lang tinapos iyan,
Partida nga at wala pang kompletong kagamitan,

Mapapansin **** ganun din ang set up sa taas,
May mga tarpaulin nanaman paloob at palabas,
May mga pira pirasong damit na tinahi para magsilbing kurtina at pantakip,
Pantakip mula sa mga butas na ding ding,

Pag lipat sa kabilang kwarto at makikita mo,
Ang sahig  na gawa nanaman sa kawayan,
Na ginawa upang maging daanan ng hangin  sa mainit na panahon,

Walang masyadong kagamitan,
Pero masasabi mo talagang magulo,
Magulo at parang wala nang paglalagyan,
Ng mga damit at mga unan na pa kalat kalat,

Konting pagmamasid pa at iyong mapapansin,
Ang basag naming salamin,
Mga LED lights na di nagagamit pag sapit nh dilim,
Mga wires na napakagulo at gutay gutay,
Batterya ng motor na gamit  ng ilaw pag gabi,

Pag napagod kana sa taas,
Bumaba ka ulit at makikita mo sa gilid ng hagdan,
Ang Mga gawa sa kahoy na upuan,
Tingin saglit sa taas at masdan,
Pinag tagpi tagping yero na bubungan,

Mga bubong na maaliwalas kapag tag.araw,
Pag tag ulan naman ay nagmumukhang talon sa buhos ng tubig,
  
Sa kusina naman tayo ay magpunta,
Bubungad agad ang mga basag na baso,
At mga plato't kutsarang di kumpleto,
Naubos narin cguro ng tatay kong lasinggero,

Sa hugasan makikita mo naman,
Ang gawa sa kahoy na hugasan,
Mg lalagyan ng plato at basong may sabitan,

Isang hakbang pa at welcome to our lutuan,
Lutuan na gaw asa lupa nq ipinatong sa yero  kahoy at kawayan,
Mga maiitim na  na kawa at kaldero na laman,
At syempre mga kahoy rin na panggatong na nakalagay naman s abandang ilalim ng lutuan,

Tuwing kakain kailangan mag kanya²,
Pagkat pag nag sabay ay tiyak na di kasya,
Pagkat plato't kutsara'y kulang na,
Pero ganun paman kami ay masaya.

Simpleng bahay, simpleng buhay, simpleng pamumuhay 😊
raen  Sep 2011
*lokt*
raen Sep 2011
lokt dikshuneri
kipin eet, kees laustt
diss iys hardd

lokt mynd
kent tingk
wer diyd mye
spelink en mynd gaw?

awt da weendoe

nid napp baad
A L Davies Oct 2011
“aquashield+ .. what is this?”
—“sunscreen”—
“no wonder you get burnt all the time it expired in two-thousand-eight ya mad cat.”
“a-ah..”
“ah?”
“good that i use a different one i 'spose hmm?”
“pfft—bronzer.”
“oh come on.”
. . .
—“awshit look at all those dried soap carcasses in the back there. little beached whales”
“exfoliating, irish spring...”
—“hey what's with the two-in-one shampoos anyway?”
“...well,”
—“seems to me like they're just tryna make showering faster.”
“yah. what's your issue?”
"well, what's the point of that? enjoy the ****** thing.
I dare you to find any two things better than being under a hot shower
& the heat of the blowdryer in the hair after...gaw-damnn.”
—“preach.”
. . .
“man, and all the dust...”
In God we trust
In  God  we  trust
In   God   we   trust

I nuh Gaw duh wii tr uhst
Ein nuh GAHWD wiie TR UHST
EINUH GAHHWD WEIIIE TR UUHS T

EEEEEI NUH GUH AW DH
WUH EEIIIE TH RUH SS TH

EEEEEI  NUH  GUH  AW  DH  
WUH  EEIIIE  TH  RUH  SS  TH

­EEEEEI   NUH   GUH   AW   DH  
WUH   EEIIIE   TH   RUH   SS   TH

EEEEEI    NUH    GUH    AW    DH    
WUH   EEIIIE    TH    RUH    SS    TH
leaving leaves
winter bare
aspen grey
oak black
elm ochre

gaw ground
trench & trunk
rotted root
writhe

forger's leafs
gild & guile
natures' fall
All my poetry explores the breaking of nature and humanity
There's always a catch but it's not always a
'Catch 22'

on the shore of the biblical Galilee
Jesus
gave catches for free,
it's true and if you don't believe me
ask him or her or ask any one of them
who were there.
(noah dee ya what activated the
followwing mumbo jumbo gumbo
potpourri.)

Within this cavernous mounting,
and hollow belly aching
numb skull dud jar re: o' mine
mailer daemons craw ling
besieging, bemoaning, and
begrudging silence, a sibling
heart of darkness changeling
swapped within freshly

     earthen grave dug -
corpse heard feebly echoing
sound of deathly hallows heaving -
off vitiating undertakers jabbering    
rodomontade synchronized tolling
tintinnabulation subterranean spilling
repercussion, repeating,
     resonating, reverberating,

where fecund imagine nation
     of mine be whit ching
usually thrives amidst long fostering
     linkedin lovely double crossing
bones (of yours truly) ordinarily inundated
     nonstop ear writ hating
brothers Barnum and Bailey ringing
sear kiss clangorously leavening

with plethora yeast heard dough ping
pong of competing
ideas grotesquely aping
charade, facade holographing
instagramming, jangling,
kindling ludicrously masquerading,
but now at this moment
     drawing nothing but blanks

     that only bring stint ting
lee reddit (Matt Scott) tickled
     yule us *******, where
     gray matter sluggish plea zing
the missus, who asked
     herb huzz zah (pair sight feeding)
insinuating yawping lovey
     dovey mulcting quivering

consternation droning, mocking
     twittering bird like,
     while (I) sought
     out (on a broken wing),
and pitiful prayer, squeezing
my trap pea zoid cinched cerebral
     cache sheared thinker
     watt bright idea
     to write vapid lee intra sting

poppycock to unsuspecting readers
mush doo doo about no thing
substantial, cuz no fanciful, nope
     not even a sing
gew(gaw) lure idea lamely, grandly,
     nor blandly forthcoming,
     which mental impasse,
     wretchedly, viciously, unduly

     thoroughly, roundly severely it ching
most unbearably torturing
of any crisis assaulted, experienced
     and/or imagined by scriveners xing
themselves setting themselves like yang king
doodles precariously balance sing
their quotidian ying.
Pick it up,
Set it down.
It was working fine yesterday,
But today it won't make the right sounds.

Pick it up,
Set it down.
Sometimes it's receiving information,
Sometimes it's just loud.

Pick it up,
Set it down.
Sometimes there is nothing
Better,
Sometimes I don't want it around.

Pick it up
Insipid ingurgitating
it never hurt
I needed that it was never pain worthy memories

mine are
Cheap
like a gew-gaw,
Shiny and strong like a dark horse
lathered in the sun
Shallow as a caliche grave

you are fearless when it's nighttime
dragging the corpse of my voice
by the knot in that bag of bones
You've been throwing around
like dice
That never play fairly

Always with a sharp tongue
a new plan and borrowed bad words
You'll find all that back for you awaiting the threshing
While here you reap

I have that
The narrows have been sounded
The depth plumbed
and only by the skin of my teeth
Did I slip from that
shallow grounding.

No!
Coddle me,
Laissez-faire
Installment plan living,
while leaking vitality
my unused limbs
become no longer
tools
of expression
but of badly pretended
emotion


Madame caterpillar,
Your butterfly brilliance
is now
patina still life,
Sepia celluloid memory clips
from some
Dark cutting room floor
of your own imaginings.

wicked worded one,
Leave my voice untouched
by the wind from your acid lungs
Return to your wilderness
Refuge is yours only there.

— The End —