Last night I was ******* in my bed with my best friend Patrick Enright and my other best friend Brendan Schulz by ivan molar who really wanted us 3 *******, you see Ivan grabbed Brian Allan and put him in the back of his after life Ute and then grabbed Patrick and Brendan and sat over them saying you three you three you three I will keep you three here forever
You see Ivan wanted to die so he could grab Brian Patrick and Brendan
And hold them for a hefty ransom, we were scared as Ivan stood over us with a very sharp knife saying you three boys or should I say men won’t live very much longer than where you are now, Brian said you are evil very very evil, let us go or I will bash you
And Ivan Milat just laughed and said
How could you bash me I am bashing you and you will never escape from me and Brendan said *******, get us out of here please but Ivan just laughed and said you 3 men’s kids of the 80’s will never escape you 3 will die in your sleep and the next day your families will be planning each of you’s funerals and Brian was scared as he didn’t want to die and started to struggle saying get me out of this evil realm with this evil spirit but Ivan wasn’t wanting to let us go, Ivan wanted these dreams to be our last dream of our current lives and I will hold Daniel morecombe with me you will never free him, you will never free yourselves and Daniel will join Brian Patrick and Brendan saying you 4 will never escape from me, I will push your bodies down onto the floor of this after life vehicle, none of you will escape and Patrick said please let us go Ivan and Ivan said no and tied all our legs real tight saying none of you will escape none of you I tell ya, the rope is on too tight and it is enough to make you suffocate and Patrick said it is Christmas, Isn’t that the time to be nice and Ivan said no, this is the time I make you four boys suffocate
Till you can’t live anymore
Heh heh heh heh heh heh
Brian Patrick Brendan and Daniel morecombe were struggling to get free because this man was not joking when he wanted to **** us and we were scared as we were trying to take the rope from out of our hands and feet and the gag on our mouths
We were very scared as everything was very tight, Ivan drove the flying panel van around the afterlife saying ha ha ha me the great
Got four Boys ******* in the back
Never oh never will they escape
Because I have them ******* and wrapped in my kidnappers cape
I can hear them struggling said Ivan oh yeah
But nobody else could so I will succeed in this kidnapping oh yeah
Go on Brian Allan and stay there Patrick Enright and keep there Brendan Schultz while Daniel escaped saying I haven’t got time to free you all, because I want my next life which is Ryan Donnelly to not have these problems and Patrick said mmmmmm mmmmmm mmmm
He was really saying please let us go
But the gag was on his mouth too tight and suddenly Patrick Brian and Brendan were being whipped and Ivan said I will ****** you three in your sleep and Brian Patrick and Brendan woke up but Ivan said I will get you when you go back to sleep
So watch your back

(The captain of the pirates and one of them were in the cabin of that stranger having dogs while talking about him.)



''In Athens, he hired us to help him take the gold, '' said the captain.
''How could he take it as long as the messenger was alive? ''
The captain laughed, '' Maybe he has waited an accident to happen.
He caught the ship; before the sunset, wanted there to arrive.''




''He had nice dogs! '' '' Yes, the dogs would help him find the messenger
To **** him and to take the documents; he understood this
While he was hiding to hear those men talking, '' ''He was an avenger.''
''He didn't know the messenger, but he knew the gold's bliss.''




''He heard that a ship carrying five hundred and twenty bars
Having one kilo of gold each one would have to anchor
Near the Prinylas' shore, '' said the captain while lightning two cigars.
The other one started to smoke, '' I've satisfied my hanker.''



''The messenger should wait that ship to take the gold after
Presenting the documents; then, he should go to help a nun.''
''Those men should meet again to make arrangements thereafter.
One of them is on this ship; he goes silent until all is done.''




The stranger heard only a part of the dialog between
Ivan and the messenger's servant, who had been sent to Athens
To meet him; then, this stranger hired the pirates- around sixteen.
'' Follow me; I must embark on that ship to watch what happens, ''



(...He had told the pirates after killing the servant of the messenger; then, he intended to **** Ivan.)



He didn't know that Ivan should give the map to the messenger
To see the description of the road to the monastery,
The sketch and some details; Ivan didn't sense the danger.
The servant had to go to meet someone else; ''Let's be merry, ''



(...Said Ivan. They should meet again after three hours to go together to the messenger. The stranger did not know this secret.)



The meeting never took place 'cause the connection man had been killed.
Fortunately, he had told Ivan where this village was placed.
Ivan had caused that square sail's damage, but his heart hadn't been stilled.
Freddy needed time in Athens, when with this problem he was faced.




This way, Ivan forced Freddy to stay longer than he intended
To be in Athens; Ivan needed time to bring the map
To the destination; because the servant's life had ended
And the repair had been made quickly, Ivan fell into the trap.



(Ivan didn't have time to understand why the servant had died. He was prompted to divert the ship to the known place of Corfu, in order to land ashore. Then, Ivan would search for the messenger.)




The stranger was the one who paid attention to all those
Movements on that ship in order to grab the gold while thinking
That the pirate ship was behind him; he couldn't suppose
That the pirates had run ashore while using fast horses settling




In Prinylas before the Frederick's arrival; they
Killed the messenger and captured the vessel containing
The gold bars; they also killed all those sailors; on that day,
They attacked the carrack to find out who had lost that meeting.



The pirates wanted to **** that man, whereof the stranger
Had told them, and to remove the traces leading to the gold.
For this reason, they were willing to put them all in danger,
But the fire caused by Ivan their eyes started to behold.



(Ivan wanted to give Erica a chance to take the map and go ashore to search the messenger. The captain of the pirates took all the documents, the treasure and the seal belonging to the stranger and jumped overboard into a boat, apparently and inexplicably abandoning his companions. After an hour, the army began to fight with the pirates' crew.)


(..To be continued.)

Poem by Marieta Maglas

(In Prinylas, in a bedroom, Ivan and Erica were talking while lying on their bed.)

(Erica said,)


I love you and I have proven it to you so many times.
Maybe it would be healthy if we would remain simple
Peasants to work in the fields; I miss this life sometimes.
You're my man and I listen to you, '' she drew her wimple.


(Ivan said,)



''Sometimes, you're exhausted, '' '' I'm afraid of getting sick, ''
''All the time, I need to protect you; it's hard for you to live
On your own, '' '' you make a lot of money; you want them quick, ''
''I'm like my aunt, but I also find a nice way to give;


(Ivan continued…)



I like to build a wealth, not just to spend them for my needs, ''
''This is why you sold everything you had in Russia and
Started a business elsewhere; you followed your instinct leads;
You don't think positively when you don't have the needed funds, ''


(Erica replied. Ivan asked her…)



''Do you suggest this is the reason why my Turkish store burned?
I've told you that after I had returned from Russia, someone
Threatened me near the border and took my fur I had earned.
It could be the nun's ex-husband, '' ''It could be anyone, ''



(…suggested Erica. Ivan replied..)



''It could be another fur trader; anyway, there is
A disruption in the business conditions; Naimah has
The same opinion; I started doing business,
'Cause I wanted a big family, but my life became a haze, ''



(Erica was a great observer.)



''Because you started to get into some risky affairs, ''
''Are you talking about the gold? '' ''Yes, '' ''I needed new
Relationships; all remained to this nun for her future years
Was this gold, which had been deposited to the bank, ’’ ‘’It’s true, ’’



(….concluded Erica. Ivan continued…)



‘’ She met me and gave me the map and the document
That empowered me to accompany the messenger
To Russia after traveling across the continent.
I would receive twelve kilos of gold for this adventure.




She had sent an act to one of her friends living in England
Authorizing him to take the gold out from the bank
And to pay a messenger to bring it home, '' '' I understand.
''She wrote about some security conditions, '' ''That ship sank,



(Erica continued…)



But maybe the sailors had been killed before sinking.’’
‘’I have to tell you a secret, '' '' Why do we go to Portugal? ''
''Because I fear of that person who fired my shop after taking
My fur; with the remaining money I opened this life portal-




I bought our trip; I couldn't turn back to talk to the nun.
I should meet the messenger; '' ''Why have you created problems? ''
''Because Frederick didn't keep his word; he preferred to run.
He had promised me to stay two weeks in Athens before I embarked.''



(Erica asked him…)



''Why did he change his mind? '' ''Because of what had happened in
Selanik; He concluded that he had been chased by the pirates.
I needed time to go to give the map, '' Ivan said with a grin.
'' To wait for me to come back, you would stay there in silence.''



(Erica should stay on the ship to wait for Ivan. She said…)



''Maybe that pirate followed us and killed the messenger.
Let's think positively, '' '' He took the gold; we need protection.
Moreover, the nun told me that she hadn't informed her
Ex-husband about the gold because of losing his affection.




This woman wants to donate her gold in exchange for freedom.
The map is vital to her as the commission is to me.''
'' The messenger came with his servant in this garden of Eden.
Why didn't they take the ship? '' ''To watch it sailing on the sea! ''



(…exclaimed Ivan and continued…)



If something had happened to the gold, he would have asked
The authorities to investigate the missing, ’’ ‘’ At least,
He should verify this transport in the port of Constanta.
Imagine how some poisoned thoughts could spoil the hope's feast! ’’



(… exclaimed Erica. Ivan asked…)



'' Where do you know this from? '' '' I've read his journal, '' '' I must go
To tell the governor everything I know and to ask him
To help me, '' ''This nun is very important to you; although
You don't say it, you do it; means not making money on a whim.''




'' I understood the idea of freedom in life,
Especially for a woman; I wanted to fight against
An old, Russian mentality; started with an inner strife
While hoping to find some ways to achieve true happiness.''



(Ivan continued….)



'' Don't forget that I overcame my own human condition.
''I think it is also about the faith that spurred you; read
Some chapters aloud for me before sleeping; your diction
Is nice, '' ''Hope it's not philosophical; don't turn in the bed! ''



(‘’Just a little, ’’ replied Erica and fell asleep.)

(..To be continued…)

Poem by Marieta Maglas

The galaxy's in turmoil, it's at an all time low
Luke Skywalker's been demoralised, all for comedic show
No substance for new character's, old heroes full of woe
What happened to the Star Wars, that we used to know

The Empire has been replaced, by the Order of the First
No real impact is achieved, we're not really that immersed
Screen presence is not felt, characterisations at its worst
The legacy of the Jedi, is downgraded and disbursed

Luke's a Jedi like his father, so why would he elope
The Disappointment of this film, is on a massive scope
Star Wars fans are ridiculed, their on a downward *****
Galactic empires did strike back, but after a new hope

Jedi knights a force for good, they wouldn't just give in
Princess Leia flying through space, well wasn't that a sin
The saga of the Skywalker's, pushed aside for Rey and Fin  
Don't bring back legacy character's, to throw them in the bin

Luke's too out of character, it doesn't make no sense
Strong villains do not exist , so there is no recompense
The shallowness of General Hux, a lack of real suspense
Kylo Ren's fake saber duel, this fight was far from tense

Evil rulers are no more what kind of name is Snoke?
He's hardly Emperor Palpatine, he's just a head scarred bloke
Like most of the new character's, well what a ******* joke
The menace of the sith is lost, Since the force awoke

Wooden character's we don't want, I know this may sound mean
Kathleen Kennedy please keep away, from the Star Wars scene
We don't want Holdo, Rose and Poe, clogging up the screen
Admiral Ackbar was killed off, and it wasn't even seen

Rian Johnson's head is round, he looks like BB8
Unfortunately his movies ****, and his stories are not great
Redemption for true Jedi knights, I know it's not too late
A Jedi Master Ivan is,  The Last Jedi's futures fate

This is our most desperate hour, after the cinemas first screening
Ivan your our only hope, the Star Wars fans are screaming
No true fan is amused, we wish that we where dreaming
"a gracious gift from god", is Ivan's first name meaning

Ivan Ortega is the man, he simply is the best
His flare for editing is supreme, he has film making zest
Unruly Star Wars script writers, he'll put them to the test
Movie making is his skill, Disney give it a rest

So come on now check Ivan out, on YouTube or Twitter
His vision of The Last Jedi, may stop you feeling bitter
Optimism flows like the force, because he is no quitter
He'll reunite the Star wars fans, instead of a film splitter

A dark time for the empire, with the Jedi in the mix
Dark side powers hasn't been seen, since Vader in part six
True Jedi Knights have not returned, nothing that really sticks
We need Jedi Master Luke, in Ivan's new Film Fix

Khadjibey was controlled by the Ottoman Empire
As part of Yedisan in the Silistra Province.
To build a fortress named New World was the Turks’ desire.
Carla said, '' This meeting has been chosen by Providence.''


Carla concluded that Geraldine was American,
And Geraldine did not understand the confusion.
She learned Spanish from the Jews, who were Spain citizens
Coming to the Empire to avoid the conversion.


''My father lost a lot because of the plague and disaster, ''
Said Miguel, ''half of my wealth was gone in the warfare.
We thought to immigrate to a new world moving faster
Than this one in which we were living as lost in a nightmare.''


Cruz asked him, ''Why didn't you try your chance for a new life? ''
''I wasn't strong enough, and my son died in this war made
For the Spanish succession after the King Charles’ death; my wife
Still grieves for her unique child; our life cannot be repaid.''


'' In Gibraltar, the property that had been taken
By force became British; we moved to Barcelona.
The power balance mirrored those widows standing forsaken.
Let's cheer this Grand Alliance! It’s as the sun's light corona.''


'' The Anglo and the Dutch kings used the navy to open
The Strait of Gibraltar needing the naval power
In the Mediterranean.'' '' Guess what was broken.''
Said Bella, '' our transatlantic economy shower.''


''By the Treaty of Constantinople, our Russian
Forces had been withdrawn and Zaporozhia lost all
The army protection, '' said Ivan, ''then, our discussion
Was to sell our goods and to leave a life that apart could fall.''


''In the Holy League, Russia joined Austria and Venice
To drive the Turks and to sign a treaty with Poland, ''said Cruz.
''Those horses have never met the steppe, '' spoke Ivan with menace,
''Leopold I helped by the Turks that Partition could refuse.''


(Geraldine and Erica were talking on the deck.)


''His father was a soldier coming home after many
Years of serving the czar; he found that his wife was dead and
Ivan lived with an aunt spending money but not having any.''
Geraldine was speechless for a few minutes and stunned.


''Erica, why did his mother die? '' ''She was the wife of a serf.
She was a subjugated slave labor for a lord.''
''Was she beaten? '' asked Geraldine while dampening her scarf.
''She had been ***** before she took her own life with his sword.''


''Who's sword? '' ''The lord's sword! He was drunk when he beat and ***** her.''
''It was a matter whether she overcame the pressure
Of the peasant village where his mother lived not to err.
She died, but I'm sure she loved Ivan with no measure.''


His father took Ivan home and worked a part of that lord's land
As a serf, barely leaving time to cultivate
The land allotted to him while taking care of his child.
Ivan didn't go to army, but asked me to immigrate.''

(Erica, Ivan’s wife, ended the conversation while starting to cry.)


(to be continued...)

Poem by Marieta Maglas

the oddity of it all, i can sound like a 70 year old, writing in 2016, by simply writing about 2004 - and that's the excuse everyone gives for lazy English text form: 2 (abc), 3 (def), 4 (ghi), 5 (jkl), 6 (mno), 7 (pqrs), 8 (tuv), 9 (wxyz) - where you had to press a button several times to get the right letter (even with spellcheck helping you shorten the digit-bag sequence) - but that's no excuse with digital phones and a complete keyboard... but that's how it looks, after only 12 years... i'm actually aged 70 given the advances of the technology advent... let's forget the technology of the 1990s... i've circled round and met up with people who collected vinyls... that's how old i am in respect to my buying habits... we're the silver-compact-vinyl kids: the ghouls of the 1960s, born in the 1980s and not getting down with the kids... and to readdress just two books: all that stream-of-consciousness made the latter end of Ulysses a bit like writing by candle-light... as was reading the plagiarism of the above stated in Sartre's iron in the soul... or as the puritans said: we're filling for at least a ¶ (pilcrow) to be inserted: not to mess up the idea of a river and "thinking aloud" where punctuation marks mean: stopping suddenly because you become self-conscious... i just needed a ****** bookmark! the monks at the time of Charlemagne used the ¶ quiet often, condensed bibles, ink was worth 20 camels and paper was worth 20 dresses for a queen... ah, the times when paper was as precious as silk... so the puritans condensed writing, they weren't as sparing in their inner feng shui - a room the size of St. Paul's... and two words in it: Jesus Christ... they were like modern day delivery guys, packaging words together, they didn't have the luxury to write paragraphs with the now established spacing afresh, i.e.:

            and Jimmy went up a ladder into the loft etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.
             Florence was making a cup of tea when she heard Jimmy yell: 'my long lost golf clubs!' etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.

i.e.

¶ and Jimmy went up a ladder into the loft etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.

alternatively the ¶ went out of fashion in the literary world, once writing became affordable and changed into a profiteering case of bravado... but i still think ¶ is a bit like using a clef.*

or how to keep one's intellectual integrity: have a drink or two,
and muster enough creative energy to use this encoding -
or... how to make poetry akin to computer
programming - a subtler way to encode
the now slothfully rising moon:
half of it, not full, nor scimitar crescent,
a half bitten honey biscuit, just above the forest
horizon, and the semi-detached houses
of English outer-suburbia - in a sense
transcendentalism, a box with many words
in it attributed to the cause,
as is the reason why Christianity became
the most schismatic religion that has ever
graced man's "good will" (ambiguity,
not an approximation) - in line with philosophical
whims of vogue: idealism, realism, transcendentalism,
existentialism, ism after ism after the Methodists
and the Baptists and other mongrels of current
affairs... already stated: populist Platonism
and the ransacked and burnt library of Alexandria...
yes, decidedly, poetry as a variation of
computer programming - although more akin
to: the tetragrammaton and the Noah's
checklist of paired onomatopoeia(s) (plural
form is underlined, Oxford hasn't picked up
the circumstance: there are neurotics out there
who'd send you to the guillotine for not
updating "spelling mistakes" that aren't
"spelling mistakes" quickly enough!) -
to the cause or as signatures of being easily
recognisable as: yes, that's that... a moustache
and a bowler hat...            alternatively
watch a stand-up show by Miranda -
the very typical English-ness inside out:
hysterical from the word go... the ministry of
funny walk from Monty Python ***
                      the two walks at the airport -
or the trip-up on skewed pavement slabs
checking the impromptu socially acceptable
version of the other seeing us -
comedians do it oh so well: the inside-out,
stern exterior, boy ******* a thumb and relating
to a blanket as if it were an umbilical chord...
what a tightly knit individual...
                          made complete with about a dozen
patches...
                       but it is! it is! it really is already
ready to be likened to computer programming,
perhaps there's no <xerox> or other commands,
but poetry deals with encoding sounds,
no man can encode a proper roar of a lion
or a squirt of a skunk, that's sheer travesty that
so many people can actually muster enough
encouragement to encode these sounds...
i imagine a world where we don't even care
to write knock, and knock on a piece of wood
and a noumenon is born, the sound isn't noted
down, it remains a thing in itself (synonyms,
in italics) - it's probably akin to getting a tattoo,
great if you have a short-term memory loss
like that guy in Memento... but it's going to
be hard to displace knock-knock -
again this is already an approximation -
onomatopoeia upon onomatopoeia -
it doesn't even sound akin or properly dressed
to mention Plato's theory of forms -
sounds can be forms: apparently they're waves...
no waves are forms (shapes) -
or that demigod who fell in love with his shadow,
rather than his image reflected in a lake,
he fell in love: because it gave him enhanced reflexes...
every single time... boom... shadow... boom...
shadow... and so much of language goes into
these nonsensical types of encoding -
blah for: talking a lot -
                                           hmm - when negatively
pondering something -
                                            i believe that
there should be a grammatical elevation of the onomatopoeia
to the status of nouns, verbs etc. -
                           but it is, it is, it really is
like computer programming,
               above and beyond the sheltering vacuum -
how would we ever write a word to encode the
sound of lightning, or a volcano erupting,
or the earth spinning - in these areas i find god -
       i will find man in these areas:
but i'll be hinged on mathematical explanation:
and mathematics is pure optics -
                       so what that we can write one and write
1, write two and write 2, three and 3, four and 4 -
    by now we can write to, too, free and for...
and this is just the start -
                             by acknowledging onomatopoeia
for something, we acknowledge our limitation
of encoding something in that realm -
this inability gave us the emergence of nouns -
   sooner or later when someone started
talking about an earthquake... a litmus test of:
brr grrm boom bah dobble aah! etc.
we got the picture - and why would a monkey
evolve from its conscious-sleep reservoir
to say just as much as with a simple grunt and ooh -
actually, some onomatopoeia(s) became sophisticated -
a grunt is a sophisticated onomatopoeia -
       as is weeping and crying and shouting -
as is shooing (or to shoo) -
well, that's how i see it... poetry as reality programming -
since there's more than just a computer -
at the moment it just resembles a game of
whack-a-mole -                 although there's more than
the mere 26 primary moles -
      and all this talk does relate to something,
something very important at the beginning of the
20th century... well, a century later, and something
similar is being discussed... Ivan Bunin?
noble prize winner from 1933, the first russian to do so...
  anyway... this goes beyond his concerns...
his concerns were akin to that dud i made
with the word mruwka -
                               personally? i feel that the "correct"
version of the word is aesthetically displeasing -
and anyone who says otherwise treats orthography
not as an aesthetic question, but a question
of rubrics and regime - so there we have the "correct"
version mrówka                               (ant)       -
anyone agree with me? well, the English language
doesn't have any concerns for orthographic
regulation - it has excessive spelling and that's that -
what bothered Ivan was the Bolsheviks rewriting
orthographic rules... the word in question?
izvestia - that really peeved him off...
                      everyone in intellectual circles was
disturbed by the changes (can't recall the original) -
but the changes were approved by the Russian Academy of
Sciences (immediately before the revolution) -
there would have been any dispute about the "evolution"
in orthographic terms if done prior to Feb. 1917 -
the war postponed the changes, and with the Bolsheviks
in power... then obviously the suspicion...
   now... such changes are but farts in hurricanes
in comparison with what happened in the realm of English...
i mean, ****'s sake, we're talking minor aesthetic tweaks
here and there - the changes still encompass the form
that's understood by the ear, and it's only a matter of
taste where you write the word ant as either mruwka
or mrówka - well, mind you, i'm already asking
for the incorporation of the Czech š (sz) and č (cz) -
but what's happening in English... my god: it's terrifying!
all these acronyms? all these emoticons?
        i know that English journalists are in favour of
:) and :( and ;) ;) [wink wink] - and next thing you know:
you're talking to a monkey... you soon realise:
the deaf have nurtured a superior system of communication,
as have the blind than these poor, healthy, ably nimble
*******...                   how they're superior, i don't know,
and in all honest? don't care...
         for goodness' sake: a heard a story that a girl
wrote her g.c.s.e. English language paper in text format:
   e.g. c (see) u (you) l8r (later)          -
now you see why i think that poetry is like computer
programming?
these people are scripts from a classical software program
that looks something like: 3;r/d]]aq"pk.0    etc.    
it's a complete and utter mess!
                         fair enough saying: O Shakespeare O
Milton... those guys are turning in their graves...
and they ain't showering the English language with
graces mind you: they're calling it the new
***** & Gomorrah - and it's not England was the sole
inheritor of the computer -
                                       that's what not having
diacritical accessories does to you...
                             you get hacked...
and this... pretty much... is a form of a hack:
you'll wake up tomorrow with a pair of sunglasses
or think you're looking down a microscope;
i swear to god...       me and Ivan are just laughing...
he's not drinking, i'm drinking, but we share
the same intuitive devices - the same puppet strings
pulled him in 1919 as they are pulling me in 2016...
the same ****** trials of a variation of zoology -
some look at monkey behaviour,
            others look at how language is cradled in people:
and i'm not even going to bother
elaborating on anything by Chomsky -
which brings me to the following conclusion
(back to Miranda) - i don't believe in fame apparent,
fame apparent, as in: tabloid crap and c.c.t.v.
and 20 nannies and 50 bathrooms, and not being
recognised wearing a virtual reality gear when walking
down a street when otherwise imprisoned on
a television screen rewind - that's not fame,
that's tyranny under the masses -
                         i don't believe in it... which answers
one famous English scientist's question:
why does posthumous fame exist?
                                    it's like that Camus question
about suicide - well... i guess it's a question of
endurance... a bit like a fail-safe mechanism about
why the pyramids are still standing even though
they experienced so much weathering by the elements -
well, as endurance has it: posthumous fame is
filled by introverts...
                                          i dare you to name that
famous Bolshoi ballet dancer, or that famous 1930s
actor or actress... they're part of the extrovert side of
what's called "fame" - but that's only a minor point
i wanted to make... the real zest i already explained -
ah crap, summary in maxim:
   the concept of modern fame is the result of a god
that has been attributed such qualities as omnipresence...
               well, aren't modern celebrities... a bit like that?

a man can learn great tenderness in killing fellow man, by translating the killing, into teaching himself a transcended tenderness for animal...  what i'll write following the intro is a paradox... i can never imagine someone being truly passionate about his cain-mark, if he cowers by first experimenting with animals his ugly deeds... my... experimenting by loving animals above man, and then plunging oneself in the ugly deeds with man alone, leaving the animal sacrosanct... well... then you have a genocide, rather than a mass ****** spree.*

you know why i might like someone like
someone like the tsar ivan the terrible?
he showed cruelty to animals:
****** threw dogs off roofs...
   me? i find it hard killing flies,
mosquitos? i can do that because they're
the equivalent to mothers-in-law,
given that i never had one...
mind you, i almost had,
but my girlfriend said her
mother was her sister,
and her grandmother was
her mother...
      try to keep up,
it's taking me 9+ years
to figure out the lies that
serve no one, any good...
great borsch granny,
love your wisdom...
you sure she's your mother?
i was partially raised by
my grandparents, you sure?
ha! 9+ years later,
what a waste of space,
you almost wish for an u.f.o.
citing...
   mind you, i've had that
experience, but given the motto:
only the rich receive the gift
of complete free will,
i was considered mad by my
"status quo" tier of economic
shifts... never mind,
i can live with that,
   after all,
   i was born with a hernia...
now i have a tickling pair of
testicles...
    chernobyll... hello!
     but i'd like to talk with someone
with someone like ivan,
someone who tortures animals
is so much interesting
than a ******, who showers love
onto animals, and treats
humans with complete disdain...
funny how the dynamic works...
at least ivan could have been stopped
by my best estimate...
        you start with being cruel to animals
your impetus doesn't have to stretch
into human hands with human bodies
akin to calf limbs...
  i really don't know why i have a pseudo-jain
imprint in my psychic dynamic...
    some days, i have about 3 moths and
4 spiders in my room to keep my company,
i get it, my "ego" will always be tiny
within the frame of interacting with
jupiter, or saturn...
       mind you, i kinda like ivan...
he began with animals,
       that's kosher humanism...
                         what's dangerous is
people like me...
   when the love for animals transcends
the love of fellow man...
   i'll say it outright...
                       i am of this litter of
examples... from an early age, being
the only child, i took to befriending animals...
becoming bored of staging theatre with
g.i. joes...
    i owned one mad doberman,
and one mad rooftop mongrel b & w cat...
from what i heard, the doberman
attacked pirranhas of the subsequent
owner...
    axel? he attacked anyone that came
near to me...
              beautiful, but idiotic as a blonde...
as the cliche goes...
   but it's really hard to understand
in differentiation the one who
began by being cruel to animals,
translated into being cruel to fellow being,
and the one who began by being kind to animal,
translated into being cruel to fellow being...
then again, do i like the idea?
  perhaps i'm imitating the failed idea
of what already exists concerning the a.i.
in the journalistic narrative...
           when i mean being
cruel to animals, i mean animals i wouldn't
eat...
  then again, i'd trust a man who
has the capacity to be cruel to animals,
than the man selective of cruelty
in the genesis of animals...
          in theory, the man being cruel to animals
is the least cruel to fellow man,
but the man being at loss of cruelty to animals
is the most cruel to fellow man...
it's just an idea... a wild cause
for "concern"...
         in my concern i find:
   if i ever become cruel to an animal,
i can then become cruel to a fellow being...
if i can't master being apathetic toward
being cruel to an animal,
   and feel nothing,
   then i can't be cruel to a fellow human being...
you know... that's how they trained
the ss-men... you know how they taught them?
pet a baby cat for a month, feed it,
be tender to it, but once the month is over...
gauge its eyes out...
                  you can stomach that...
     you can get the auschwitz premium of wages;
after all, someone has to work the sewers,
as someone has to work the gas chambers.
harsh, isn't it?
                the day i learn to be cruel
to animals, is the day i learn to be cruel
to animals...
   i know that chicken are idiotic cannibals,
a part of my family lived
in the countryside,
kept a herd of chickens...
you know what happens when you axe-off
a head of a chicken?
other chickens jump onto the wooden
stump, and start pecking at the decapitated
head of the dead chicken, inc. the blood...
some animals are indeed herd material...
funny thing happened to me once...
i was on holiday...
   and i had a cat with a heart problem...
my parents gave the house keys to
my neighbour, a sikh family...
   the cat died, from kidney failure...
i know he was on aspirin because of a weak
heart... but kidney failure?

p.s. cats take more time to **** than to ****,
kidneys of iron... it only 2 weeks...
you know what i did from sadness?
went into a graveyard, chopped off a head
of a tombstone, and in the night
dug a hole, poured his ashes into the hole,
placed the gravestone chip near the hole,
and put the soil over the remains...
   now i'm feeling like murdering my
sikh neighbours;
why?                         they killed my cat!
i lost trust in fellow man, about 9 years
ago.
next time i hear someone telling me a lie,
i'll be sharpening knives,
  and thinking about a career in butchery.

YOU HAVE
TO WANT IT



MAN
“go outside,” the doctor says,
“stand on the grass for fifteen minutes a day.”
you’re here because today you want to get better.
“tell me how you’re feeling.”
“I’m scared.”

“I mean physically.”
“so do I.”




ANGEL
an angel can come in a burst of a blister,
on the tip of a finger.
he always starts small
with the whispers,
         “i know about love,”
   like you asked for it.

he prefers to come at the end of the month,
            amid deadlines, another set of blood-soaked, ruined *******,
some traces
     of the relationship with your father and failure.
but you like that: having an excuse that sends you
   scrambling for car keys.

    at first it’s forests, their fires,
the flowers that follow once the ash and skin and soil
are mixed. at first it’s earth and rubbing it in,
     seeing god behind your eyelids.

so you clean the pipes, keep washing sheets.
      the voices they stop coming; once in a while you
      read online how many kids this week have overdosed
    on ****** and it’s foreign. kids with dirt
under their fingernails, kids in basements, kids
with ***** canvas shoes and overgrown cuticles.
           they don’t look like you. you still look like
you.




MAN
                   mike sparks a j in the basement.
        we chew on xanax and no one’s paying attention to the TV.
some white static and early afternoon rain. it’s made me gone
ghost, sitting on a leather recliner, silent with a cigarette.
              it’s a right of initation to carve your name in mike’s
coffee table and sign on the back wall. this summer I added
   mine alongside the kids I used to get nervous around in high school.
                       his mom comes downstairs with a joint of her own rolled
and a French manicure. her lip liner is too dark for her
lipstick, and phil’s warmly lit and ivan leans so far into the
couch he isn’t human.

mike sits up, “ma,
you know you owe me some money?” he changes the channel.
she laughs throaty, her insides a swamp. she’s
prettier when she’s high like this.
                       “I got your money,” she promises. it gets soft
from there and phil smiles over his body and ivan moves
further into the couch. she touches mike’s hair.

“good kid,” she tells me and I smile up at her. I wish I had
a body but I left it wandering through
the thunderstorm outside. ivan nods his hazy head.
          mike hands her a diet coke and she hands him a fifty and she goes—through the walls—
       phil digs his hand into the couch cushions to find papers. I go
ghost in the seconds it takes him to spark his lighter.

the ghost lights herself a cigarette.
   the ghost lights herself another cigarette.
               the ghost lights herself a cigarette. “are you chain
smoking now,” phil slurs playfully. “yes,” the ghost agrees.
     “are you having fun,” ivan turns to her.
                “yes.”

HUMAN
i don't want to know what love is like i want
                                       air that
                     tastes like apples and
       i want real raw
         brown sugar
       i want to shoot up every
grey second for two weeks— get frantic then
       take benzodiazepine until i shred my
stomach lining, singing
                                                    
            i want bud light and
a backyard. bed time stories and
            white furniture and ritz crackers
             with fancy party cheeses
                              i want to complain about the drinking age,
                              new york’s black-dusty wind charm. complain like the
                              moon is still lonely and not a destination
                                          i want to wake up in the sun spot
                                          i want to wake up to a baby crying
                          soft like mothers do, going to
                                     that dear one to quiet them down,
                                        i can be here to kiss you calm
                                                              i want to get out of bed
                                                              i want to call friends back
so winter can come and i can still
                              go home.



       WANT
         throwing on the rag&bon;; jeans,
         neither rag nor bone more milky skeleton-ized, eyes
         pin headed. faces struck yellow all tops of the heads
         with umbrellas and sorry throats. "here take mine" no
         "you'll get sick" it's fine
                                                        the gothic church with social strangers
                                                       ­ tweakers and nodders all smiley side-
                                                        eye­-Y
                        i know the gimme gimme
                        i know the routine
         and blondie (they think) here she comin she twenty years clean
         blondies a baby she weak as **** she dont know what she got
but i know the "i want" "i want"
         and the ok baby,
         Got U




HUMAN
i dont want to know what love is like,
                  i want to walk the manhattan bridge at sunrise
                  i want
                       grass wisps and capers
                       chicken noodle soup
                       a night at the new york city ballet
                       and pauses in sentences, in breath
                       the breath before a kiss or the breath
                       after it. i want instant hot chocolate
                       and reality television, ugg slippers with
                       faux trim. a bicycle painted lilac with a
                       basket, and clear skin. i want pier 63 on
                       a 70 degree day, the weepies playing
i want to be a ghost
            where ghosts are white sheets with two button eyes
             and make jokes about halloween and their past lives
i want to go there
to street fairs
and watch fireworks and write out names
in fresh concrete patches
                                                     i want to eat blackberries in the bathtub
                                                     i want skin to make me feel safe again
                                   i want to want to live
                                   but i know the "i want" "i want" and the ok baby,
Got U




WANT

they were right,
                               they were all
              going (right
they were righjt
they were right

air hanging eyes to dry
blood pull in push out brown golden push IN
  

they were right they were all right
nothing could ever make me as happy again



WANT

it’s a hold on something so quiet and soft in your hands and no one knows what it is and you dont know what it is. it’s the pin drop in a hospital room and so lemonade refreshing. im in a snowstorm and i cant see the city, cant see past my own two feet. im on a long highway drive and it’s rain that comes in sheets so hard i cant move. i walk and the world writhes underneath me and we put needles in our arms. and we wait for the blood push. and i watch my life go away in warm *******. and i watch it go this way like it’s not me. and i’m going home to ****** and i’m scared, i say outloud to maggie, “i’m scared i’m going to do something stupid,” and she is so quick to say “like what” that i know she knows what it is. and i’m so scared.





WANT

give up on me , I Know where im going. don’t follow. don’t even look for me. keep
Counting sugar cubes and stirring your coffee , it is my wish for you that it always tastes sweet.
I love you












WANT


i just wanted to be kept warm by something that looked like love



MAN
i walk slower on the streets of manhattan; stop at
   the strand, look for the man with eyebrow rings
asking "do you know where a girl in this city could get some relief?"
         he laughs, says he just looks like someone who would know
            that. he asks, "is that Monster Blood?”
                             &nbsp