On the harsh, cold pavement did the failing princess lie flat
On the verge of her kingdom falling her hindsight was to ****
On the throne of Callula did Zargon cast his usurp ruthlessly
On his account had darkness plagued the country mercilessly
On her struggling breath did Serena lament her distrust for him
On past occasions was Zargon her advisor until came his dim
On the land of Callula was Serena banished from without hope
On the filthy floor in a deserted castle could be her last interlope


Callula is a land once prosperous with green, blue, and light in awe
Now it has become the domain of evil under Zargon's dark claw
All about the once-coloured land has turned to barren grey
Ash and dust have given priority to the recurring death day
The living will starve and the dead will re-establish the nation
That is unless the prophesied hero will rise to combat this damnation
But the whereabouts of such one is a mystery for there is little left
By rarity will the saviour appear for monsters occupy all of the heft


Sick with fatigue does Serena crawl for justice in the pale moonlight
Behind the rotten castle walls must she find the means for the right
How unfortunate is the abandoned place giving her little chance
To the death will she fight to save her kingdom from the evil stance
She drags her tranced self across the filthy tiles tearing her dress
An outdoor domain of rotting torture devices is a fearful mess
Weary from hiding and travelling gives Serena her mental wane
It is at this point of despair and her people dying she tears in pain


Callula's kind citizens who lived in peace are now infected with ill
Abundance was food and water but vanished into a land of chill
Zargon is the Lord of the Dark Regime and the Bringer of Shadow
His royal relations charitably bestowed upon him the greedy glow
All must bow before this usurper king or will face the eternal suffer
Resistance may be noble but will fall under the darkness smother
When Zargon attained kinghood he gave Serena her ****** exile
Beauty has bled from the devil's blade and now walks pain's mile


In a pool of her own blood does Serena now crawl ever so slow
Her rain of tears express an outcry of help in a mood of sorrow
All alone in the cold rainy weather does she fret in the torture room
Bloodied, torn, and weak she now is similar to Callula's gloom
What seemed to be her acceptance to the heavens comes a surprise halt
An unexpected warrior deters a death that was Zargon's demonic fault
Now healed and restored, Serena thanks the man with genuine love
An intimate kiss and hug under the dark sky gives her tears of the dove


Inside the darkness of the empty castle lies the secret to end evil's tide
Holding closely do the recovering princess and wily man ride
Quietly traversing the dark tunnels must they avoid waking any doom
Deep within the ancient world lies things more deadly than any boom
Serena's hope is kept alive by her love for the hero's act of saving a life
A life worth saving for she suits the throne sharper than any knife
The Kindle Sword, designed to break curses, has finally been found
Now Zargon's immortality will die for the weapon shall astound


For the land and people of Callula do the two make their royal march
Into the darkened Callula Tower shall justice they deliver to the enemy
All monsters flee in fear of the Kindle Sword that shines without mercy
The heavens' light spark in the midst of the underworld's darkness
A sign that the mighty inferno will soon perish by the incoming water
Scaling the once delicate now dreaded keep is the final step
What follows is the war between the forces of good and evil
Serena and the hero shall make their last stand against Zargon


The two valiant Callulians braved their way up through Zargon's tower
Defeating every loyal servant of the Lord of the Dark Regime's power
Upward are the stairs to the underworld as the music louder it ascends
Behind the large door of the throne lies the chance to make amends
Breathing in fear but motivated by courage do the good enter the way
Armed with the Kindle Sword and determination will create this fray
Inside the throne room do Serena and the hero meet Zargon head on
Following a sadistic grin does he arrogantly engage the battle head on


Both sides exchange turns of blows as the war rages the room apart
Walls and pillars of stone become rubble from the anger of all heart
Blades clash, energy blasted, and blood spilled for Callula's domain
Zargon stood strong but Serena and the hero soon had the upper gain
His arrogance became his downfall when stabbed by the hero's blade
The Kindle Sword's light smiting evil with all justice from it is made
Zargon collapses in a state of disbelief before his untimely death
Serena and the hero couldn't rejoice though as the building just breathed its last breath...


The last resort for Zargon was to crush Serena and the hero in the ruins
Callula Tower began to destruct as stone fell from the force of bruins
Luckily the two courageous souls escaped the oncoming collapse
Serena's future hope is to not grant evil royal power for fear of relapse
Just as the brave princess and the hero could rejoice, there was a boom
Abrupt was the immediate silence then the unexpected came to bloom...


EXPLODING FROM THE RUBBLE WAS THE ENRAGED ZARGON
INTOLERANT OF A HUMILIATING DEFEAT HIS EYES GLEW RED
THE EARTH TREMBLED AS THE HORROR LOUDLY AWAKENED;
ZARGON SLOWLY TURNED INTO A  BLOODTHIRSTY BEAST
TOWERING AND VIOLENT, THERE WAS ONLY ONE PURPOSE:
THIS INCARNATION OF ZARGON'S HATE WILL **** THEM ALL


THE LAST STAND BECAME TRUE AS THE HERO WAS KILLED
DEATH BY THE MONSTROUS ZARGON BECAME HIS FUNERAL
SERENA WEPT AND WAS ABOUT TO FLEE WHEN SHE TURNED
HER TEARS WERE NOT OF GRIEF BUT OF COURAGEOUS ANGER
SHE TOOK THE KINDLE SWORD AND FOUGHT ZARGON
TO SEEMINGLY NO END WOULD THE CEASELESS BATTLE RAGE
THE MONSTER FINALLY MET ITS FATAL DEFEAT BY THE SWORD
SEVERAL SLASHES FOLLOWED BY DECAPITATION SOLVED ALL


The Bringer of Shadow, with his fate sealed, the dark land also sealed
The green grass, blue water, and bright light returned to land their heal
The citizens relieved of the dystopian terror with the heavenly reign
Serena the princess now honours her slain royal family without the pain
As for the fallen hero, she honours her comrade with an elegant funeral
Callula is now saved and blessed with qualities beyond any numeral
The hopeless land now restored to the hopeful land, Serena shall rest
All the while she looked in retrospect that her tears were the cause for the best

Sleepy Serena
Like a bear in a cave
Sleeping soundly
With chaos above
Dreaming of love
Dreaming of lust
All is okay
With sleepy Serena

Fire
Sparks above
Vibrations below
Erupting sleepy Serena
Dreaming of pain
Dreaming of sadness
Her mind is madness
All is not okay
With sleepy serena

Cantan los niños
En la noche quieta:
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!

¿Qué tiene tu divino
Corazón en fiesta?Un doblar de campanas,
Perdidas en la niebla.

Ya nos dejas cantando
En la plazuela.
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
¿Qué tienes en tus manos
De primavera?

Una rosa de sangre
Y una azucena.

Mójalas en el agua
De la canción añeja.
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
¿Qué sientes en tu boca
Roja y sedienta?

El sabor de los huesos
De mi gran calavera.

Bebe el agua tranquila
De la canción añeja.
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
¿Por qué te vas tan lejos
De la plazuela?

¡Voy en busca de magos
Y de princesas!

¿Quién te enseñó el camino
De los poetas?

La fuente y el arroyo
De la canción añeja.

¿Te vas lejos, muy lejos
Del mar y de la tierra?

Se ha llenado de luces
Mi corazón de seda,
De campanas perdidas,
De lirios y de abejas,
Y yo me iré muy lejos,
Más allá de esas sierras,
Más allá de los mares
Cerca de las estrellas,
Para pedirle a Cristo
Señor que me devuelva
Mi alma antigua de niño,
Madura de leyendas,
Con el gorro de plumas
Y el sable de madera.

Ya nos dejas cantando
En la plazuela.
¡Arroyo claro,
Fuente serena!
Las pupilas enormes
De las frondas resecas,
Heridas por el viento,
Lloran las hojas muertas.

Nais kong lumipad tulad ng ibon sa kalawakan
nais kong lumangoy gaya ng isda sa karagatan
nais kong maging leong mabangis na katatakutan ng lahat
nais kong maging serena na kumakanta habang lumalangoy sa dagat

Nais kong maging musikero na tumutugtog na mga instrumento
nais kong maging sikat na singer na hawak hawak ang mikropono
pagkat ako'y isang hamak na bata lamang na nangangarap ng imposible

Lahat ng iya'y imposible kong makamit - imposibleng magawa
sinong tutulong sa'kin?
sinong gagabay sa'kin?
wala, wala talaga, kung meron sino kaya?
sa pangarap ko lang talaga ito magagawa

Os iusti meditabitur sapientiam,
Et lingua eius loquetur indicium.

Beatus vir qui suffert tentationem,  
Quoniqm *** probates fuerit accipient coronam vitae.

Kyrie, fons bonitatis.
Kyrie, ignis divine, eleison.

O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena esse Virgo creditur.
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena,
O castitatis lilium.

Kyrie, fons bonitatis.
Kyrie, ignis divine, eleison.
  
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena,
O castitatis lilium.

i love women, don't get me wrong, i finally succumbed
to watching the female world cup,
since the lionesses reached the semi-finals
against u.s.a., but the man in me just kept thinking:
yeah yeah, great footie, but those beauties...
where's martin keown, i need to look at
a mugshot of a brute, i can't concentrate
on the skill without a girl that looks like
martin keown... oh god... alex morgan...
              julie ertz... steph houghton...
   don't get me started on the swedish team...
    wimbledon has also started...
                    i do enjoy female tennis more than
the male variation of serve-**** tactic...
or the terminator that's serena williams...
     cori "coco" gauff... wow...
                i wish she would win the championship
and replicate martina hingis wimblendon 1996...
problem... she's under 16...
so she's only allowed to play 5 matches
in the tournament... and what if she wins
the 5th? that's the quarter-finals...
7 to win the tournament... the rules should be bent,
she should be able to continue...
end of an era... the dinosaurs are being chased
by the younglings...
prof. green (roger federer) still has it in him...
but... well he is a professor of tennis...
his style? his backhand? immaculate "conception"...
who played as well as he does?
roger sampras... the list is very short...
but i don't have a problem watching woman's
tennis, it's so much better than the brute strength
of the serve akin to the game played
by: ivanišević, rusedski, roddick, čilić (chy-lea-'c -
piquant, that acute c)...
   n'ah... in terms of tennis?
i think the males are over-rated,
                except for the prof. of grass court...
i do love women... apart from the nostalgia
for primary school playground banter with
the girls: when we still had an asexual
sense of it... before all the **** jokes,
before the greatest schism in ether of existence:
beyond the religious and in the biological realm...
o.k.: i tease... which is something a prepubescent
girl would understand:
   if i was also a prepubescent boy...
times, have, changed...
i'm with ms. amber and ginger ale,
cigarettes and a decent soundtrack...
               i still don't want to understand incels...
i listen to them, but then i reach a limit...
thank god i didn't lose my virginity to a *******...
but... if you have to?
         isabella of grenoble...
               a fine fine catch...
          mind you... have you ever been
to an 18 year old's birthday party,
   and it was not what you were used to,
i.e.: bal samców / cockfest?
   this 18 year old's birthday party?
  my friend ian tagged along for about an hour
or two... then he suddenly bailed on me...
i was the only male... among... um....
20 or so girls...
              why, the, ****, are, muslims,
blowing themselves, up,
for a reward of 72, virgins?! eh?! can anyone
please please tell me?!

no brainer question(s)
   (as dictated by h'american girls in venise):
the beatles or the rolling stones -
to be honest? neither.

   top three songs with the bass guitar
setting the rhytm:
   1. tool - forty six & two
  2. the offspring - bad habit
3. róże europy - kości czerwone, kości czarne...

roy orbison or elvis? m'hahaha... royo...

  a lot has happened since i attended that
18 year old's birthday party...
why are muslim men so eager to entertain
eternity with 72 virgins?
      will they be keeping them virgins
or what? that would be the best way
to not move past kissing and oral ***...
once 3rd base is entered: the third eye
of transgender shiva opens up...
    
              why did solomon give up his harem
for the monotheistic monogamy associated
with the queen of Sheba?
   beyond one, what good is a harem?
if you've never been around 25 or so virgins...
you really don't know what you're talking...
or getting yourself into...
                    herrdildomaschinekopf...
look, i just changed the background to show
you i'm not lying:
  that evening i came home: ex-haus-ted...
did i spend the past few hours in
the company of teenage girls or was i being
ripped apart by a pack of wolves / hyennas...
and you know how drunk teenage girls
behave... you're shreds... they're competing
like it's both the 100m sprint and the marathon
cooked up into one!

i really could have chosen a different path:
***** ***** all year round...
   well, why didn't i, why did i become
voluntarily "celibate"?
            as much as might want the company
of the opposite ***: picking up a thai surprise
bisexual in the park one day...
******* her in the garden...
   walking her home while she drowned
in my jacket... she telling me i should stop
drinking... now... drinking...
i was taught to listen to rules under the arch
of pedagogy... now? i'll be as stubborn as
i am expected to be...
i don't like being told what to do,
thank you for telling me to do for the first
21 years of my life...
  now? welcome to the plateau!
even the best advice is the worst advice
after a certain period of time...
do i look like a ******* puppett that will
listen to such things: oh, but if you don't
do x, you'll become homeless...
   i've met some happy homeless people...
one even told me why he became homeless:
'my mother told me to never lie'...

i don't even think these jihadis know what
they're getting into,
wishing up 72 celestial virgins...
i'll take to the count of "72" valkyrie serving
me drinks than expecting me to **** them,
and the eternal library of text and music...
don't get me wrong...
receiving attention from women:
esp. those younger than you,
while they're intoxicated: it is fun...
but when it comes to the sort of
intimacy of a relationship with a women,
when she starts to read you the cosmopolitan
magazine's questionnaire as to whether
she's the perfect girlfriend /
you're the perfect boyfriend /
   you're a perfect couple?
i love women outside the realm of a molten
heart... i don't like finding myself
vulnerable...

              am i missing out on something?
oh i know i am...
but it's like owning a car:
great! you own a car!
             "mobility"...
  but you also own car insurance...
the m.o.t. payments and spare parts...
and washing the car on the weekend...
oh i'm so jealous!

  what's that famous saying?
women... can't live with them,
  can't live without them...
       well... more like: can live without them,
but much harder to live without them
and stop wanting them...
whatever glimpses i've had of past
relationships: i sober up even if i'm drunk...
she didn't want to split the restaurant bill...
this "modern thing": feminism,
my "toxic masculinity"...
  whatever, whatever...
                   i guess i'll have to end
on a note superstitious of a teenage girl's whim...
i'm bored, the end.

_______

.now i have a fox, without a leash, that i tend to feed everyday... keep feeding him, or her, lamb fat, cat food synthetics, and once in a while a frankfurter... and the Polacks you minded so much? only attacked ****** night0club owners... made plums and figs out of their faces... bulging and caress worthy... same ****, different cover, with the easy girls of Liverpool and Newcastle... back down in London? the story goes: she's an exchange student from New Hampshire... riddled by the madonna-***** complex... and i'm not really adamant adamant on stealing the cherry... if you've ever ****** aa ******? one, is enough...  i'd sooner become ****** up by a ******* tornado... and giggle... dying with a half breath... before plummeting face down onto the hearth; watching daisies, growing, roots up!

i've had one irish migrant educate me:
you know...
there are plenty of neo-nazis
in Poland...  
       and? am i one of them?
   liked him, a high school friend...
i'm sorry the friendship ended...
so i am?
   **** me... better i brush up on
reading some Heidegger!
         oh look 'ere i go...
        can't stop me now...
unless befriending Pakistanis
who have kept a null of Urdu...
              because you know...
   if there's a culture that's integrating,
and doesn't,
   have the honor, capacity,
to keep in line its origins?
no problem...  not worth it...
           people who do not retain their
skeleton -
their basics -
  their language -
   they, "magically" lose it...
half-castes... half-people...
   no pride in an origin,
   not upkeep with a language?
might as well call your mother a,
*******, *****!
      ****** by an antiques dealer!
******.
      no pride in origin,
  no subsequent pride in a "return"
on foreign soil...
   plethora of antagonizing Islam...
good look...
    i have mine,
but i hide it...
      ex-girlfriend -
almost took a ride on one of those
buses in the 7/7 bombings...
     what?!
               guess what...
i'm an ex-pat...
  i know that you wouldn't call
your similar genetics of
a "family" an ex-pat
and neither a migrant or an immigrant...
   (economics comes later,
doesn't it?) -
  but i'm sure the english
are loved up with Hindu grannies
and their grandchildren
taking them to the doctors to
translate symptoms...
   fine by me... you do the math...
   apparently i'm not speaking
English, but? ******* Urdu!
         no problem...
thank god i never allowed myself
a pledge of allegiance to the people,
rather, the language they spoke...
the language is all i pledge my
allegiance to... and for...
the queen... and her people?
        **** it... shooting albatrosses
off the shoreline of Cornwall...
attempting to spot
  porky Siamese twins...
        one does the eating,
the other does the oral ***...
             what?!
             i have not pledged any allegiance
to the english people...
  they love their **** curry
and their Afghan foot-soldiers...
   i'm doing the Pontius Pilate
washing of hands...
   which is a secondary theater of
a baptism...
                      no...
no allegiance to the people....
but the language?
   i'd give my life for it...
           the people are not exactly
the main ingredient in terms
of existential coordinates -
but the language is...
    on a per se basis mingling with
the appropriate focus.

Mes de rosas. Van mis rimas
en ronda, a la vasta selva,
a recoger miel y aromas
en las flores entreabiertas.
Amada, ven. El gran bosque
es nuestro templo; allí ondea
y flota un santo perfume
de amor. El pájaro vuela
de un árbol a otro y saluda
la frente rosada y bella
como a un alba; y las encinas
robustas, altas, soberbias,
cuando tú pasas agitan
de los himnos de esa lengua;
sus hojas verdes y trémulas,
y enarcan sus ramas como
para que pase una reina.
¡Oh amada mía! Es el dulce
tiempo de la primavera.

Mira: en tus ojos, los míos;
da al viento la cabellera,
y que bañe el sol ese aro
de luz salvaje y espléndida.
Dame que aprieten mis manos
las tuyas de rosa y seda,
y ríe, y muestren  tus labios
su púrpura húmeda y fresca.
Yo voy a decirte rimas,
tú vas a escuchar risueña;
si acaso algún ruiseñor
viniese a posarse cerca
y a contar alguna historia
de ninfas, rosas o estrellas,
tú no oirás notas ni trinos,
sino enamorada y regia,
escucharás mis canciones
fija en mis labios que tiemblan.
¡Oh amada mía! Es el dulce
tiempo de la primavera.

Allá hay una clara fuente
que brota de una caverna,
donde se bañan desnudas
las blancas ninfas que juegan.
Ríen al son de la espuma,
hienden la linfa serena;
entre polvo cristalino
esponjan sus cabelleras,
y saben himnos de amores
en hermosa lengua griega,
que en glorioso tiempo antiguo
Pan inventó en las florestas.
Amada, pondré en mis rimas
la palabra más soberbia
de las frases de los versos
de los himnos de la lengua;
y te diré esa palabra
empapada en miel hiblea...
¡Oh, amada mía! Es el dulce
tiempo de la primavera.

Van en sus grupos vibrantes
revolando las abejas
como un áureo torbellino
que la blanca luz alegra,
y sobre el agua sonora
pasan radiantes, ligeras,
con sus alas cristalinas
las irisadas libélulas.
Oye: canta la cigarra
porque ama al sol, que en la selva
su polvo de oro tamiza
entre las hojas espesas.
Su aliento nos da en un soplo
fecundo la madre tierra,
con el alma de los cálices
y el aroma de las yerbas.

¿Ves aquel nido? Hay un ave.
Son dos: el macho y la hembra.
Ella tiene el buche blanco,
él tiene las plumas negras.
En la garganta el gorjeo,
las alas blancas y trémulas;
y los picos que se chocan
como labios que se besan.
El nido es cántico. El ave
incuba el trino, ¡oh poetas!
de la lira universal
el ave pulsa una cuerda.
Bendito el calor sagrado
que hizo reventar las yemas,
¡oh, amada mía, Es el dulce
tiempo de la primavera.

Mi dulce musa Delicia
me trajo un ánfora griega
cincelada en alabastro,
de vino de Naxos llena;
y una hermosa copa de oro,
la base henchida de perlas,
para que bebiese el vino
que es propicio a los poetas.
En la ánfora está Diana,
real, orgullosa y esbelta,
con su desnudez divina
y en actitud cinegética.
Y en la copa luminosa
está Venus Citerea
tendida cerca de Adonis
que sus caricias desdeña.
No quiere el vino de Naxos
ni el ánfora de ansas bellas,
ni la copa donde Cipria
al gallardo Adonis ruega.
Quiero beber del amor
sólo en tu boca bermeja.
¡Oh amada mía! Es el dulce
tiempo de la primavera.

Serena era la sinfonía que producía su boca
En mi alma generaba una armonía como ningún otra,
Pero desde que sus labios me olvidaron
En ninguna otra boca he hallado, esas sus notas

Y por mas melodías que escuche en otros labios
No se comparan con la armonía que me producía su boca,
Jamás pensé que algún día se silenciarían los cantos
Que me daban alegría y me detenían las horas

Ahora solo me queda el recuerdo de sus dulces notas
Una leve musicalidad que se repite en mi mente
Por las noches cuando duermo creo escuchar su boca
Y me despierto en un lamento y es mi alma quien se duele.