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Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2022
maybe it's one of those nights where i don't write
anything and simply enjoy drinking
and some good music...
it must be one of those nights...
i feel intellectually lazy...
                     more than that...
i feel that my memory faculty has taken over...
culminating in a reading
of Zhuangzi...
      what was that band that did a song about
Mr. Brightside?
                 the Killers? no?
                ****... i didn't leave a bookmark...
i usually leave a temp. bookmark with a sample
of toilet paper...
                     no... not because i could wipe my ***
with the pages of the book i'm currently reading...
it's just easier that way...
but this one story was about two concubines...
one was beautiful... and she knew/ thought that
she was beautiful...
   the other was ugly.... and she knew / thought
that she was ugly...
but the ugly one was more endearing...
             the master of the inn replied to the traveller:
i treat the ugly one better... because:
i sometimes forget her ugliness...
                           this is non-verbatim of course...

i could easily incorporate the following Cyrillic
into ****** on the basis of laziness...
   following from                 щ:

     szczur becomes щur...
                             i don't think there's any aesthetic loss...
i rather find it elevated...
but with that it also means i would have
to drop the Czech orthographic aesthetic of the caron
hovering about either S or C...

because there's no щ in Czech...
the Serbians can incorporate a Latin J...
i'll just leave it as my own idiosyncratic attitude...
rigid English is also fluid English:
whatever grammatical uprising happened or is still
happening: my I.Q. was drowning in
the "pronoun debates"... so i sort of lost interest:
but English will not incorporate any post
Roman accents... perhaps that's how the English
prospered: thinking themselves as the rightful
inheritors of the Roman Empire...

makes perfect sense...

like the critique of Communism...  to me?
it converged with the already emergence of Pan-Slavism...
which was a genuine movement...
the unification of all the Slavic people...
Communism didn't work... it didn't...
in the Soviet Union...
              it worked in China where it morphed
into a quasi-capitalism...
it also worked... in the satellite states of the Soviet
Empire...

it worked in... Czechoslovakia...
it worked in Hungary... and it worked in Poland...
it did...
   how?                  mein gott!
everyone's familiar with the Marshall Plan...
so... basically... funding by the F.S.A.
          (united? states? please... nice 20th century
gimmick... nice chant at sporting events)
so there was this Marshall Plan...
        aid was distributed to the war torn countries
after World War II...
           even Sweden! (i thought Sweden was neutral?
yeah... it was, hmm!)
           was given a paycheck to rebuild...
but what else the Soviets "liberated"? sure...
         "we" received a paycheck... a "grant":
via an ideology...

                               i'm starting to think that...
music from the Satellite States of the Soviet Union
was on par with Western music...
i'm happy i kept my bilingualism...
i can go back to a culture that i'm a diaspora member
of...
         unlike all those Asian immigrant children
who's parents tell them to forget their mother tongue
and only acquire a strange urban accent...
thankfully i'm first generation immigrant...
i kept my tongue, because, as Napoleon said:
a person who knows two languages is worth 2 people...

oh please... Soviet music is ****...
i'll give three examples... maybe more...
Maanam - Krakowski Spleen...
Klaus Mittfoch - Śmielej...
Republika - **** Doll...
Omega - Gyöngyhajú Lány...
fair enough... the last song is Hungarian...

but it wasn't all bad...
                        perhaps it was bad in the Soviet Union...
well... you bring together Russians and Mongolic tribes...
the Kazakhs etc.
            but? surprisingly... the genius of Gorbachev...
as my grandfather used to say...
that it happened so peacefully!
can you imagine the breaking apart of
the United Kingdom... or the F.S.A. as peacefully?!

i can't...
    perhaps it was bad in the Soviet Union...
but after the historical facts of the **** Empire building...
there was always going to be a subversion
element to nodding to the Soviet-post-Tsarist
arena...

    i'm not saying that communism will ever be
a success... but... it's not a bad idea in crucial scenarios...
like in Poland from the years 1945 through to 1990...
it worked...
    and then... the reins are let go...
what happens? a diaspora is created...
   those adamant that communism didn't work
stay in the homeland... and rebuild it with a doubled
fervor... while those that thought that communism
worked: ******* to other countries...
i think my mother pushed my father into
looking at immigration: given she was a daughter
of a prominent member of the communist party:
**** me... my grandfather was a meisterschtick
in his profession... he was even asked to be
a peer... in a courtroom...
                     i.e. a member of the jury...

me? i was once a witness...
  a troublesome witness...
so me and m'ah "fwend" and some other witnesses
were walking down a street in the night...
some ****-
                          -stani pulls up in a car...
and grabs m'ah "fwends" phone out of this hand...
i tell the other witness to note down
the number plates of the car...
duly noted: we go to the police station
and report it...
   week or two later i'm skimming through
mug-shots in a police station...

idiocy goes to trial... i'm standing in the dock...
the lawyer of the defesense
shows me another picture of the culprit...
back in the day when there was an imprint
on the photograph: before photographs became
digital...
is this him? he asks...
i look at the face... then at the date...

this is two years prior?
    can you imagine me growing long hair in two years
time? can you imagine me growing a beard
in two years time?
so why are you asking me what someone looked
two years prior to a crime... if not asking me
what i will look like two years from now?

it was a simple ******* question...
i honestly don't know how the case finished...
i guess it was a failure because:
m'ah "fwend" probably felt scared
and couldn't identify the culprit...
whatever the case: "problem"...
i sort of lost respect for him and in a polite way:
when i was in my nadir...
he uttered the words: would you like me to
bring out a violin?
oh... ******... ****** ****** ******...
i wanted to tell him that the reason why
his parents divorced and why he was still
living with his dad
and why his dad ****** off to Thailand
and brought a Thai bride with him
and hy he now had a step-brother
and why his father was still playing Command & Conquer
and breeding Thai chickens...
and why his hygiene was terrible...
why he didn't clean his kitchen...
and the reason why his father divorced his mother
was because she was a terrible cook
    and because the third child they had
had serious mental disabilities... *******...

but... no... i didn't...
              this is how you repay me... after i stand
up to you?
   i remember parting with him after he left me
stunned with that violin quote:
i turned my back towards him...
raised my hands up and then... let them flop:
**** it... tower of Babel...

that was just prior to the "onslaught" of the pandemic...
me? i gained from it...
while everyone else was growing tired,
cold, distant: i was already tired,
cold and distant...
akin to the crab bucket: there was only one
way up...

friends! ha!

two more songs...
            Róże Europy - Jedwab...
Róże Europy - kości czerwone, kości czarne...

what are friends? in the dire straits...
only then... and by then...
you're befriending strangers...
no... no ******* childhood memories of people
you used to play hide & seek with...
or... by western standards: video games...
oh: to hell with that!

my Cerberus came to lie in my bed just
a minute ago...
i think i'll need him to stand watch should
any rat from my neighbour's garden try to nibble on
me while i take to sleep in the garden:
half frozen in nakedness on the hyper-"real" grass
that's fake...
i'll need him to watch over my sleeping body...
but that's the only great aspect of a heatwave...
while everyone else will be rotting in a household...
i'll be falling asleep in the garden...
illuminated by solar-panelled lights...
and i'll be: mostly glad to be alone...

just that silence in my head...
which i try to rekindled with multiple egos
like a Thespian and not a poet...

Communism worked... because it only works for
a while!
               it would work in Syria...
it could work anywhere for a period of 50 years...
up to... 50 years...
then it disappears... gladly...
it's not a permanent Utopian sentiment...
it's a crux: for rebuilding nations...
it worked in Poland...
                        it didn't work in the Soviet Union
because... Communism was anti-Tsarist...
but the French Republic could have...
turned into a Communist experiment:
which it did... post-Communism...

                         blah blah... i'm enjoying the music
more than the writing...
1:34am... i think i'm going to ******* to the garden
to sleep a little bit earlier before sunrise
arrives... i'll take my Cerberus with me...
to watch over my sleeping: dead body to mind
the rats not trying to give me either manicures
or pedicures...
            
    we'll have our fun... stars... moon...
a naked torso... the chill of night...
                       if i lived a place where the cold wasn't
a concern for raising bricks...
i'd be a... waste of time... or rather:
i'd be an untouchable...
i'd grow my beard to my bellybutton
and my hair strapped in dreadlocks
to my ****...

         but i do enjoy Turkish barber-pandering...
it wasn't all that bad!
         it wasn't!

see! i started off thinking about nothing...
now i have a narrative: genious sessions with Hans Zimmer!

but i really could do with certain letters in the Cyrillic
alphabet...

               i feel so bad for Maine **** cats and Huskies
in this weather...
don't ever leave dogs in hot cars in parking lots...

i really could do with some Cyrillic letters...
beginning with щ...

             via the word: truthfulness:

щerość > ščerość > szczerość....

                 i can't introduce the caron S or caron C
with the already available acute S and C...
better turn to Cyrillic...
because i'm / i am lazy... with Cyrillic being
what the English do with the apostrophe...

but i need several more letters...
i don't imply having to derive from the Glagolitic anymore:
i.e. Ⱋ...

                  i need the following:
to replace the SZ, CZ... RZ...
                  esp. these three letterings...
ж to replace rz
                              i know there's an alternative meaning
should ж be replaced with what replaces rz,
i.e. żaba: frog... rzecz: thing...
ergo?                                                  жecz..
ergo...                to replace CZ?
                                         ч...
i.e.                  жeч...

     what am i falling on? terrible ideals and mystical
Judaism... i'm trying to HIDE the TETRAGRAMMATON...

SZ...                          шatan...

hmm... this one curiosity: coupled with another...
it took **** Germany with Soviet Russia
to conquer Poland than it merely took
**** Germany to conquer France...

a human has 32 teeth...
the Polish language has 32 letters...
although... i'm trying to extend the bite...
by borrowing some Cyrillic lettering...
perhaps it's a "bad idea"... but i don't see any problem
with it...

the English language has 26 letters...
although, the same "problem": SH and CH
are also letters: even if they are composed
of two letters... sat and shat...
cat and chappy...
                                                                   no?

there are enough words in the ****** lexicon
that utilise the SZCZ (shch) coupling:

another example: szczegół...
i.e. detail...
i can't be bothered with writing one s after
two zeds before writing a c...
щegół...
                           hell... it looks pretty for any
English speaking crowd...
esp. the monolingual tourist types...

i like it... i think i'm going to stick with it...
frankly: i think i am...
but that's me... will it become popular?
i hardly ******* doubt it...
i'm just trying to hide the Hebrew TETRAGRAMMATON...
the Latin grapeme Æ in the name of the name:
in the first born Siamese of
yAh of Adam and wEh of Eve...
      the rugby goals of the HH...

   and all? because i'm writing in London...
outskirts... perhaps... but i can catch a train from Romford
toward Liverpool St. and arrive within 20 minutes...
or i can cycle...
       and still get there... with a whiff of
Bombay... and Lahore...
hmm... funny me looking at funny you:
WASP...

Richard Harris coming to England... to London...
smashing a glass window
with a poster: blacks... dogs... the Irish not welcome...
i adore authentic drinkers...
they make me believe that i don't
have a problem...
that the problem is outside of me!
because... the propable cause is that:
the problem is outside of me...
i just adapted to it with drinking...

best gain: **** prostitutes like a pirate
without a ship...
spend your night listening to phone-calls
coming in from Arab boys trying to attest
their ****-philia...

in conversation:

what's this with your husband? i'm bounding myself to being boxed as both confused with... yu need to elaborate... i promise to return a cryptic language... but just show me your head... i was going to write this... i think i will... "imaginary scenario"... a jealous man comes across a woman cheating on him... RED FLAG... what does he do? he asks the cheating woman... how about a *******?! what could be worse for the cheating woman... two men fighting over her... or... one man deciding... sure... if she's up for it... let's share! do i need that much crap or do i just allow the woman to play out her full fantasy? we're already reached a ******... we might as well elevate the ******... you cheated on me already...next stage? i share you with someone... there's no need to ****** on the wedding ring... it's what i call the de-escalation of symbolism...but all the FREEDOM! if i was in a relationship with a woman... and found out that she was cheating on me... i'd ask her for a *******... after all... mouth... ******... ****... ****... *******'s not enough: it would require a foursome! eh... you can spare him the nun antics...

— The End —