ząb... or tooth... zęby... or teeth... the lesser Ezra in me is more bewildered by the non-existent strain of either vowels or consonants in English, than the Chinese ideogram... i agree: you must have an idea when reading Chinese, and a population of over a billion... and subsequently a well-known linguistic complexity, a thrice-over Chinese wall in the eye and off the tongue, to later precipitate into an ease in making the mathematic tongue acrobatic... but then have no theoretic procession to study the complexity, or hear a xylophone... i'm the membrane mid-way between burying the Latin anecdote Beijing... and asking to kiss the hand of Marco Polo... had he wrote the Quran... i'm just simply juiced for one reason, this is my take on the corner-stone rejected... ******* the crucifix, and tickling the feet of the crucified one... as anti-jew as i can be... well: volk zu γoλγoθα... or volk zu γoλγoφα... compass! mein kompaß! alter: volk zu ßιναι! oh look... quantum physics... it behaves gleiche y = w, ~i, >ł.... and into a p.s., as γ = Υ (upsilon contra gamma)... once more, the lesser Ezra in me is bored with the Chinese ideogram, it's translated plain and simple, perfécto arithmetic! and the billion-strong populace... applause to the Chinese politicians... democracy as an pure English export is not wanted... it's decadent, and ripe for only decay... please, god or yoga no... we can do without it! this is the lesser Pound... i could be fascinated with the Chinese ideogram, but i'm frankly occupied with addressing the English encryption.... mind you, that translates as: you missed a spot... and they did keep their language so diacritic-free in order to form the global empire... which can only mean that mad geniuses and other akin stipend students will ever appreciate... but my fascination with diacritical marks, or their lack, is akin to Ezra Sr.'s fascination with the complexity of the Chinese ideogram, or rather the syllable form of not enraging the trinity, therefore concise, xi (ξ), chi (χ), chow (χω) mein (μεjn / μει - gagging ιota: main... mejn... replaced by additional curvature of j), kfu mang thu! kuchi kuchi, kat(h)mandu.. gucci gucci... rattler... or pinky on the black key in a piano concerto... the odd number... thus the english siamese of i and j, the only letters with diacritical marks, beginning with ιota being the one under-dressed... and they are indeed there, for clear syllable intake, as a way to pave for the architecture of punctuation, and what could be later described in the real world, as a punctured rubber tire, or a sewing technique, in the guise of tartan to a cayleigh whirl / orthodox scot that's: ceilidh... ****** me, god's a pauper, leaving him out in the cold of nonsense when man just asks for kejl i, p.s. dogged out hound harking grammaton, and some random number outside of tetra.

pst! look in the woods! you might find him there!
music always overpowered my
need for women, i always found music to
be antidote
  to ensure women exist -
               dunno, dough]nut -
or dunno, it just happened...
      CENSOR MR. CENSOR!
HELLO?!
                  LOSER. HTML
IS INFECTED.... now i'll come off as paranoid...
    but then i am typing in paradox
  land...
                my keyboard is ******...
a case of etymology... *wargi - and
pysk - or usta, and buzia -
one's kiss kiss,
      Tarkan style...
  but i wonder why when i listen to
  in extremo's rotes haar...
i imagine dwarfs dancing,
        but then the prancing pony of
hedningarna's vargtimmen -
       which might    
mean *******, but
then it might mean something
in Finnish... vargtimmen: meaning: close your lips...
in Finnish; so bound to the word trim...
trim your lips.
even though the people didn't move,
a lot of ******* children made Poland their
home... for example wargi, which
means usta... add a p to usta
and you'll end up saying: she's empty, barren.
no wonder the transgender movement
occurred in english... words have no
feminity or masculinity... so ***...
they're asexual, apathetic...
   a male can't own a table
in the Freudian sense of signifying a phallus...
stupid me blaming St. Thomas' gospel,
when the problem lay within the realm of per se...
       i have to add: it's a bit foggy where i'm right
now... and my html is a bit bonkers...
     but it still stands as Finnish and Polish
versus English non-mythical when sniffing
the **** crack of America...
          fog ought to be enough, apparently it isn't,
you need to care to
economise and work to an ethic of working
so hard throughout the year for a 2 week holiday,
   and then end up throwing away your food produce
and then feel irritated by a homeless person...
   so yeah... you're grand!
          i mean i am...
the we is automatically bewildered...
i couldn't pet a woman, women are much more
than cats, and i pet two cats and hate them...
     not having women means i am resistible...
if i were irresistible i'd be insane...
      the magnetism of prefix convergence...
   re- means again, not against...
   and in- can also mean a-,
          every time i speak the scandi tongue
like i might found saying the lazy way an english
man says ****-,
               i feel like jumping up and down...
hed- -nin- -garna!
      hey hey **! jump you mo fo!
                     and i live in england and i care to
take to escaping english, that's really messed up...
i can't listen to the tongue... a bit like my russian
girlfriend said to me: Polish is just static,
sh sh sh sh ch ch ch ch... i mean, the best
***** in the universe are done by the people that
really hate your ethnicity,
they love you as a person, and the person they
love to ****, but then the collective unconscious
comes along, and they say the most horrid
things in between the orchestra of vowels during
the ******... babe, you drowning? i know
i am.
            if a yiddish man would come along,
he'd write yzwz... because that's how h became
z in the grapheme sz and ch...
                 and paradoxically: it's not the smallest
sound... and if the Latin grapheme continued its
existence... and was regarded as the smallest
linguistic unit, it has to mean that
    two names converged... it means that
the coliseum will overpower the church...
   which means that the Latin man had names for
his letters... and it was never all about music
and castratos... it was never a simple a when
the Greek said alpha, or it was never as simple
a b when the greek said beta...
vargtimmen! purse yer lips! ye gods, pout!
  duck-alliances throughout!
   yack yack yack... quack... ******* ponces
and narcissistic nuances...
yes, when w = v = w = ł -
               when it is meant to invoke the ugly duckling,
and a swan, and a łabądz -
my soul is already Scandinavian bound...
  like Frankenstein's Jr., to the fog, the snow, the frost...
      if Spinoza is the prince, then i'm the king,
the tetragrammaton just drops out like
a birth of an antelope - it just drops out of language,
but it only drops out, once you have used
a language associated with diacritical marks...
knowing solely English or Russian Cyrillic won't
help you... it really does just drop out from
the ****** of nothing like an antelope on the savannah
plain... but given there's no diacritical
distinction in it... being born into a language that
uses diacritical markings to ensure there are
distinctions, makes studying the tetragrammaton
all the more fascinating...
English uses no diacritical marks, neither does Cyrillic...
the Greeks are cosmos (polish slang reference
to them being on l.s.d.) with their niqab of
diacritical usage when English Latin remains
slap-stick naked... come on! put on a ******* bow-tie
that might be at least the french acute over
e!         éh?!           knowing the lazy sod, he won't!
but such is the joy of experiencing etymology
with music... to associate
vargtimmen... a Finnish compound word,
with the English word trim...
         or the word dimmed...
           and the Polish clear-denotative word
for lips... i.e. wargi... or usta...
  timmen might also mean: to bite...
  warga is the singular of wargi, i.e. bottom lip,
    to bite the bottom lip...
            does the music in hedningarna's expression
say much? no it doesn't...
   poetry can be the least musicological
         when analysing music...
             the best poetry can attest to is:
gauging your eyes out with it's bewilderment that
it has become such a primitive art,
   compared to the etchings in the caves of
Lascaux...  how that's really said?
                 obviously las-cow...
                  or proper: lascau(x)...
            the two tier of language... those who live
off it as noun-to-noun... and those who live
off it as hand-to-mouth... solely verb in action...
    it's actually a great shame that i should be writing this
and having a father who perfected the craft of roofing...
  i feel more an imbecile, and even more a rooster
in a wheelchair...
        so much for having a russian girlfriend for a summer
and an egyptian friend for no reason;
don't worry, you won't write a biography about me,
  such nuances of language with a personal twist
can remain where they are, in the archeological
dept. of nowhere.

thangs that are dumb and show offish
is posting how many views i got and
i got a lot for only being a noob to site.
aint jealous but hate when a lady
used to yack yack about how many
shoes bought when i had a job.
do not miss that woman cause
she was like over eating candy
that makes you sick also

"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."

Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
    Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
    Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
    Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***?
    How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
    Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
    Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***;
    Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
    You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

Suppose you try a different tack,
    And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
    Or with the mummers mug and gag?
    For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
    Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

THE MORAL
    It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
    Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

based on a you-tube video: milo yiannopoulos vs. hysterical feminists; 1 17 2016.

i've never hard long relationships,
the last one i had was a long long time ago,
she said: i enjoy pain -
maybe - but i did also:
i unsheathed my ***** and put on
a c-ring on my helmet:
yes, circumcision does ease
the florals of afro lips
              and you find the cut off skin
in the ******* all the more appealing
all the more necessary to fight for,
oh wait: or so you thought.
hijab blah blah: take away from man
and we're constantly in feminine mourning:
akin to Darwinism's motto:
     there's a reason for everything; everything!
and there is! that's the universal suggestion,
adapt, create a reason for such adaptation -
god in mind (without prayer and laments
at funerals or judges' commentary) -
        ha ha how about we make Poles the
scapegoats, ******?
                well: now i really feel special,
are we supposed to say: yes good lord,
aye aye sir, kiss the ******* of Brooklyn
queens?
                 but you know what's funny...
bird songs...
             birds have an aesthete -
sure, they **** me off when spring comes
and the window is open and it
starts to feel like Africa at noon (i admire
the colonial powers of England:
how did they manage all this ****** heat?!) -
i'd spend a day there and then say:
**** it, get me back to the Scandinavian
refrigerator, can't stand this, ******, heat!
look at me: piglet albino!
                some say white some say
black, some say auburn some say chocolate
some say emerald, some say copper,
  some say pink, some say piglet -
some say 'you squinting, or something?'
try: white boy does a Buddha on marijuana -
people think Buddha is ******...
****** racists...
     one Czech who travelled to Mongolia
told me a secret: the Mongolians don't like
marijuana -
                    the Czech? met him at U.C.L.,
called Jacob - oh sure, grand guy,
                     so if you suddenly interpret
Buddha as ******, get serious:
      look looky at the squint -
then on the page the cipher: renmimbi
and 100 yen -
                        tugged by a ******* yack.
****** complex but then in Latin
simplicity:
                      chow mein -
or chewed a rubber tire and hence came
locomotion: a jaw in a pickle jar,
at every cannibalistic gathering of connoisseurs;
burying my great-grandmother i was
attacked for my expression of guilt:
when the priest started his litany i started
laughing... laughing a funeral, ha!
but it's this you-tube (hyphenation does not
exist in logos - anti plural, hmm:
or to use shorthand off words, i.e. images
to convey less wording and optical adventure
on the sly: hyphen! here boy! tear these
superstitions apart: like in the medieval
period charms and spells and Merlin,
so too the Mc and the i-) -
but enough about the funeral, that video i
referenced first:
                   a throng of crows sounds more
beautiful than humanity talking over each other...
it just hit me! like a bulldozer -
      we are actually so divergent from a unifying
causality, having conquered all natural
predatory forces, that when we're actually
accountable for being collected and told to
say freely what we want, we sound so
****** disgusting - i listened to this video
until i heard that a 10 second silence was required...
        the same we give to those who passed
in war: that's the difference between Western
Europe and Eastern Europe:
the division lies with the idea of remembering:
western europe has the first world war covered,
eastern europe has the second world war covered -
hence the ****** poppy parade;
       and how could i completely integrate into
such a society? what, be fake? relinquish my
bilingual ontology and hollow out, ethnically
cleanse myself? sure, i speak the tongue:
but i treat English as rooted in all things Germanic,
given my baptismal name: Conrad - hell, what
could possibly go wrong.
          i, will, not, assimilate, into, this, *******,
culture, like, some, ******.
                end off!
it would mean: oh you're be happy here,
but forget the 8 years you spent in Poland and
developed a psyche -
i hate it when people force a soul on people
without the capacity to develop it...
  ******* freak saints with their autistic children:
if the thing in question is unresponsive
         toward developing the mere notion of a soul /
a self: why does the church implement this
****** sin against abortion? if i were an agony uncle
i'd tell the girl: think about that scene in
the film Prometheus (2012)...
       i don't get how something that can't even
create the mere idea of a soul actually have a soul...
limited instinct, sure: but a soul?
     hence Santa Clause: or where all innocent
idiots go - provided by Satan's Clause, which in
jurisprudence suggests Disney as the patriarch.
still, with so many eloquent minds about
in history and as in now,
put them together and they sound so ****** ugly:
humanity can create the abundant leaning tower
of Pisa (or let's just call it the ρoμbυs of Pisa) -
we can't recreate a congregation of sparrows' song
nor a lion's roar in a **** way: like grrr -
            what i said above?
we have the power of the atom bomb, and we
decided to champion science, but in the case of
application? we're lazy! we create these sadomasochistic
saints who never bothered to do research into
what might happen - shoot me,
       if we exclude the mere notion of god
and do as Marquis de Sade did and champion nature
(who, by the way, was actually a militant atheist)
        we can't avoid the economic barbarity of nature:
it's inherent cruelty -
                    and this is the modern curse
of outrightly censoring a certain part of human
history as if "it didn't happen".
  it did happen, no wonder i have a plot of land
near Cracow reserved for Jew snow (ashes) -
    it's almost as if to say: because the black plague
didn't happen in the region: here's the holocaust!
      and you'd think this might bring me closer
together with an Egyptian... n'ah.
       as i once said - *oni pyramidy, a my kominy
they the pyramids, we the chimneys.
            maybe the Yiddish evolved in Germany
had something against the Polish Jews?
                            maybe...
who knows...
                 civil wars are known to happen -
maybe that was a subversive version of a civil war,
given that Israel didn't exist, you could have
the Jews of Manhattan ******* at the Moscow
Jews and it all became expressed in Poland...
         they did have a saying, those Polish Jews
back when the money was there -
   nasze kamienice, wasze ulice
(our houses, your streets) -
            as my grandfather used to say:
they fought the war with the rifles bent,
shooting into the sky or into their foreheads
like any Jehovah's witness stance to war was deemed
appropriate to join the cult.
         now i can say, kinda proudly,
sure, your houses our streets -
                           nasze szubienice (our gallows):
or was the free Palestine movement slowly
dying?                  all i know that by the time
we reach 2099 - things will look drastically anti
1999 with that party culture -
      someone just decided to cut off the *******
of a great poker player - America is these days
castrato - Castrato America! Castrato America!
they blame immigration, i blame them
bribing "saint" John Paul II for ******* displacing
me...
            i lived in a city where there was
more than just football taking place: water-polo
for ****'s sake! my father played it!
             Olympic diversity: not this inbreeding
****** of sport coverage:
television, a.k.a. the box? more like a zoo cell.
             the busy market place where i was born?
just banks, no shops, just banks.
  they tell you **** on the internet isn't real:
then t.v. is desperate,
and no teenager commits suicide from a weak
grammatical membrane to invert naked words
into clothed words: red (noun) etc.
and let me add: where are the editors in this place
and are any necessary? no -
what's troubling to the west / capitalism is how
socialism has resurfaced -
          it's not called social media for nothing -
sure the model is capitalising on opinions and conversation,
but how ugly this socialism now looks;
       my grandfather? he's living in a safety net
of actually having a pension -
                   he retired more than 10 years ago,
way prior to reaching 70...
              this is Poland, the so-called "acid satellite"
states of the Soviets...
    where the **** will your old be with "sir" philip
green and the 0-hours contract?
                                                      nowhere!      
oh i would go back: had i not lived here most of
my life and built a greater capacity for the language
beyond a large majority of natives:
  oh look, here comes the Rotherham Pocahontas.

If I seem surprised,
it's because I'm still alive.
My search for eternal sleep
ended with a nap.

You didn't see because I didn't let you,
but you were never one to want to help.
You sent me on my oh so merry way.
Why didn't you know I was that far gone?

Though I don't blame you for damning
me. The river flowed too strong inside,
it was up to me to dam myself. Too
bad I dove into the raging torrent of

Baltic tea, yack and Judas. I have no
need of temporary sleep. I only have
freezing sweats and waking dreams
that make me picture you and know

I need to seek another push and pull
until I'm blind to what you were to me.
If I freeze my insides the river will stop
flowing so violently and for once I may

be able to take a breath and dream
without a bottle and pictures of you.
I'll lie by the bank and smile at how
calm it has become since I threw in the ring.

I don't blame you for damning me, and
I don't blame you for keeping turned.
I only blame me for not daming myself
when I had the chances back then.

Let loose the river; I'll happily swim the rapids
without preserver. There isn't much left to
keep afloat. Not that I need to die this time,
but I can't say I'd resist without you.

the dream



joan barimaster was a very independent woman, who wanted everything to be perfect, and she lives

with her 34 year old autistic son named robert, which can be a complete nightmare, because robert was

always asking questions like a eager to learn teenager, well maybe at first, but as he repeats and repeats

the same quotation over and over again, joan was totally sick of it, like this morning robert was telling joan

all about his dream last night, saying, are dreams the force of reality, and joan said, well yeah, if you want them

to come true, they’ll come true, but we really shouldn’t look to deeply into this dream, but robert said

well, i dreamt i was a star of the musical named joseph and the amazing technicolour dream coat and

robert was joseph, and joan said, dreams are all the gunk from your head trying too get out, and robert said

oh silly mum, that isn’t the cause of dreams, i must be healthy if that is the truth, because i dream all the time

and robert was asking joan twenty times over and over again, i am joseph, i am joseph i am joseph

i really am joseph, and then robert sang, i closed my eyes and drew back the curtain to see for certain

what i thought i knew, and robert sang that over and over again, driving joan completely nuts and

robert said, ok mummy, how about we go to the drama group and joan was busy and had to rush

which was a total disaster, first of all, joan had to get robert into the car, with robert being completely hard

to bare, asking stupid questions all the time, he was saying i am joseph i am joseph i am joseph

i closed my eyes drew back the curtain, to see for certain, what i thought i knew, and he was singing

the song ever so loud, making joan say in harsh loud words SHUT UP, but robert said, this is a dream of mine,

i am playing joseph, i am joseph, and that is my coat, when they arrived at the drama group, joan let robert out of the car

and didn’t move until someone brought him in, and that came in 6 minutes, and joan left, to go back home to do some work

now, joan has her own business in catering, and unless robert has to be somewhere, was always with joan, mind you

robert was never in the way really, it was just a little too much listening to him yack all the time about being joseph

and when joan picked robert up from drama group, robert said, i am joseph, they said i had real potential to be joseph

and joan said, really, that is good, robert, and joan went to this house on the rich end of town, to cater for a party and

robert went with her and started chatting up one of the female guests who liked the idea of robert playing joseph in a play

and she said she really loved that musical, and when robert sang the song, suddenly he was given guidance of the rest

of the song because this guest knew every word of the song and this made robert very happy, and then robert was told to *******

by the host of the party, and robert said, WHY DON’T YA UNDERSTAND, I LIKE YOUR DAUGHTER, I WANT TO MARRY HER

and joan, who was in the middle of preparing the meal, went out and said, robert, you have to quieten down, buddy, because

this man is one of my clients, ok, if i stuff anything up, i might lose this client and not get paid, and the host said, just keep your

son away from us, and joan put robert in the laundry, and this laundry was very interesting for robert, you see 2 washing machines

and 3 tumble dryers, and he played with the dryers and that made the host very mad, saying to joan, don’t bring your poor son to your jobs’

because he is stuffing us up, ruining our party, ok, i put in a lot of hard work, to be able to afford to have you cater for us, and having your

****** disabled son with you, is totally stupid, and joan said, nobody ever calls my son a ****** ok, and i don’t really need your money

so i will just leave you, to finish and me and robert will go home, he can’t be trusted at home, and the host said, what kind of mother are you

for letting your son dominate and joan said, i will cook these meals, so i can take your money for that, but you can wash and dry up yourself

you see, buddy it comes in a package, me and my son, ok, if you can’t except this, you can go and get ******, because i love my son robert, ya see

and joan got robert inside her house and said to robert, you were bad tonight, you know mummy wants to make a business with catering and robert

said, yeah i found that funny but Joan said, no, it wasn’t funny, catering is hard work, impressing people is hard work, you are hard work, but i am coping

and robert said when is drama on again, i am joseph, and that is what his lifelong dream was, to be joseph, and dance with pretty babes

and joan gave robert his medication and robert and joan both went to bed to be ready for the next day