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"Hello, little Little shoulder,
Haven't you cried a bucket of tears over the years?
Or was it?
Was it all just yesterday?"
Because it very well could be.

~~A little melancholy question for her shoulder~~
"Hey. Are you giving to the Yemen charity? There's a UK nationalist appeal for the refugees from the conflict."

"Yemen? You mean that bit on the edge of the Red Sea, yeah?"

"Wow. I'm impressed. I thought you failed Geography at school. I did so you must have, too. Considering..."

"Yeah. Well, it was boring as ****. All I remember from Geography class is ******* oxbow lakes and irrigation. That's something for your ****, innit? Pipes and that..."

"I don't think Ethiopian farmers shove pipes up their arses to grow crops..."

"But they do use ****, innit? Same as here. We grow like... potatoes and carrots in ****. You know that, right?"

"What...? Just stop. I haven't got time. I'm collecting for the Yemen appeal. Are you giving?"

"No chance, bro."

"What?! Why not? You've got a ******* heart, haven't you? Imagine if it were your kids, your grandmother starving to death..."

"I'll tell you why, bro. This t'ing in the Yemen, this war...religious is it?"

"What war isn't religious"

"Actually most of them, bro. Religion might be a flag to wave but it ain't the reason for war. There's always something hiding under the god-cloth, gee. Trust. Might be greed for resources. Might be land border control. Politics, bro then religion. That's war. Even if it looks the other way around."

"Have you been watching David Ike again on YouTube? What did I tell you? Once a racist, always a racist. The man thinks he's the ******* Oracle of Delphi."

"No, man. I don't watch him anymore. He looks like one of the ******* Village of the ****** kids, grown up. And he chats ****. Mainly that, innit."

"Well, anyway. Look. War is bad and any help is good..."

"Is Britain helping?"

"Yes. Of course. This is a UK appeal."

"Then why is it selling Saudi Arabia guns, planes, tanks and bombs to fight the war against Yemen, innit?"

"Umm...well, countries need security, I suppose."

"Nothing to do with Al-Mahra then, no?"

"Where are you getting your information? What is this? I feel like a criminal here!"

"Just asking, bro. That's all. Just wondering why you thought this war t'ing is kicking off? You like politics and that, don't you?"

"The war is because of rebel insurgency from Houti partisans trying to take back land already given to Saudi Arabia in previous agreements and depose governments in line with Shia Islam laws."

"Why don't nobody stop it? Like Iran if its Shia versus Sunni? Or the ******* UN?"

"Are you off your meds? You seem... different today. More paranoid than usual..."

"Thank you, Mister Propaganda. Now can I tell you the real reason, gee?

"Please do. I'm all ears."

"At the ****-end of Yemen is al-Mahra. The Saudis want a transnational oil pipe through to the coast.
Yemen has oil but the pipe is more important, bro. It'll bring in big dollar and ease transport of oil to other countries.
Every country bar Yemen stands to profit from the pipeline. Even Iran. Which is why it does ****-all but denounce the war, innit?
Same as everyone else. They cry wolf, say 'shame on you' and collect money, innit? But under the table, they're selling the guns to hurry up the result and it works two ways for the UK.
Not only do they get rich funding the ******* war but if the Saudis win, Britain will get rich, too. And if the war carries on for all time, they get rich. Its win-win, gee. A bless t'ing."


"So why would I give money to a country that's backing a war out of greed?
The charity is British, yeah?
So I'm then funding more ******, right?
I'll give money through crowdfunding online, gee. Straight to the people who need it, not through some conscience-money charity ****.
Trust that ****, bro. That ain't David Icke. That's me."

"I never thought..."

"You people never do, bro."

"You people? You have been watching Icke, haven't you!?"

"I mean you conscience-monkeys. People who jump on a good cause because it raises their esteem and public profile.
Something to write on Facebook, innit?"

"You're damaged. I can't take much more of you."

"... Said the wound to the salt, right?"


"Crowdfunding bro. That's all I'm saying. Hey, you fancy a curry? I'm buying."
Dear God,
give us the strength to get through today... and each day until we meet you again.


Dear Humanity
give me a break from listening to your whining... and for Peter's sake live as long as possible. Having you here will be a ******* ball-ache.
All you do is complain and beg forgiveness or fortitude. And what do I get?
A nice sing-song, a load of killing in my honour and my name dropped about a trillion times to justify every ******* egotistical action you people make?

Newsflash: I gave you freewill for a reason-

If you want to please me, then please... stop bothering me.
I've got enough on my plate managing the angels and balancing the universe; I don't need to be wet-nursing you lot.

If you haven't evolved spiritually now to deal with your hardships then you never will. Don't call again.

God (the Father)
Anya 6d
On the girl's side:

Are you going to winter formal?
No, I wish I was. They even have a candy bar.

On the boy's side:

Theoretically, if I was to consume cyanide...
You know you could...

On the girl's side:

Look at how perfectly I filled the gel!
Yeah, girl power!

On the boy's side:

Who filled the gel C?
I'll use you for my source of error.

On the girl's side:

Eugh, beef tacos:
I never eat them, only paninis and pizza...sometimes

On the boy's side:

Ooh, beef tacos!
Finally something good to eat.

I find myself smiling. It is true, I'm only describing a tiny microcosm
Not nearly enough,
to make conclusions

Aligning to stereotypes?

Maybe, I don't know
But I do know,
While listening,

I was fighting to keep a smile off my face
How funny people can be when you remove yourself from
Main character to audience
"Good match lastnight, innit? Good moves. Entertaining."

"I don't watch football."

"You don't watch football, bro? You ill or some'ing? Football is life, bro."

"No. Football is a footballer's life. Not yours. That's half the problem right there; thinking you're the same social standing as a professional football player. You're not. You're mediocre at football and can't follow instructions. You'd make a terrible team player."

"Wow. I'm pickin' up some jealousy-vibe, man. Some real passion there. Like how I feel about football, innit?"

"How do you you feel about football . I've got to ask. Already I know the answer so its more a rhetorical question than anything... "

"I love my team, bro. Its about loyalty and supportin' your roots, innit? It's about being part of the community."

"For once you've surprised me. That's quite well-put. It IS about loyalty and supporting your community. Nottingham might be a ****-hole but it's our home, right?"

"No, man. I support Liverpool. They're the dons, bro."

" But you're from Nottinghamshire...."

"Yeah. I know. But Nottingham Forest are ****. I wanna support a team that wins, innit?"

"(... sigh...)"
James Khan Jan 15
"Yo, I gotta joke..."

"I don't want to hear it if its anything like the last one. That was disgusting."

"What? The Ant and Dec joke? Come on, it's not that raw..."

"It's sick. Anything like that... forget it."

"I swear down its a tame one, bro. You'll like it. You ready?"

"Go on. If you must."

"How many Saudi Arabians does it..."

"Stop! Stop right there. ******* forget it. I don't want to know. Jesus, what is it with you? Must every ******* joke ridicule a race or satirise a trauma? Don't you know anything... I don't know; clean, I suppose. Or just less cutting?"

"Alright, alright....knock knock"

"That's more like it. A traditional knock-knock joke. But I've heard the Doctor Who one, okay?"

"Knock knock"

"Okay. Who's there?"


"Umm... Allah-who?"

"Akbar! Boom!"

"You're a ******* cancer, you know that, right? A disease."


"Yes. Precisely. You're a melanoma."

"No. Melon Omar. He's Mullah Omar's brother... runs the Afghani fruit and veg shop down the road. Check out his melons, man. They put Katie Price to shame."

Before I'm branded a racist it's important to understand the thread of this dialogue. The message here is twofold and either party is right. On one hand, we are in a society now where racist slurs are commonplace words and prejudice forms the basis of humour.
In an ironic twist of skewed ethics, only people of a designated race can insult their own heritage for laughs. Anyone else is a ******* racist, apparently even if they laugh along.

But on the flipside, if things such as racism and terrorism are satirized they lose their fear factor and potency for inspiring hatred. They become lame ethics synonymous with cringe-humour rather than proud badges of intolerant membership.

Still... is it acceptable for black and Middle Eastern comedians to tell n*gger and p*ki jokes? And if so, why can't we all?

It's a two-edged sword.
James Khan Jan 15
"I've been thinking, bro..."

"Oh God, no! Not thinking. Please. Its been a long day. I lost my shoe in dog **** on the way to work, it got... stuck and came off. ******* slip-on's..."

"Laces, dude."

"Yes, well... that was the precursor for a ******* nightmare shift at work. I'm tired, unsociable and definitely not talkative."

"Was it like... that thick glue t'ing or more a log...?"

"What?! Look I'm tired. Alright?! Thank you. Goodnight"

"Bless, did you clean the shoe, though?"

"I'm not doing this. Goodnight."

"... I mean, you can hop to work if it ain't far but you might get a wet sock. You could find some old chip wrappers or some newspaper..."

"I bought some more. Alright? Now ****** off to sleep."


"Too posh to wash, gee."

"Right! That's it!"

"Sorry bro, sorry. Come now, it's funny though... you bought new shoes? How?  Was there like a ******* Foot Locker next to the park where that girl got paedophiled by the milkman? You go that way, innit? Actually, was you ever a milkman..."

"You achieve new levels of contempt that never cease to surprise me. You are a disgusting creature. Do you know that?"

"You coulda used some leaves. Horse chestnut is good. Big leaf, lots of area to scrape the..."

"I'm not ******* Bear Grylls! What the **** are you banging on about now? I bought new shoes off... someone. Then I went to work. Now I'm back listening to your survival expertise on faecal misadventure. Just *******! Jesus...!

"Chill, man. Just chill. I'm trying to help you here. Save you money, innit? How much you bill out for the crepes?"

"Do you actually speak English? Do I have to get Google Translate out again...?"

"You're rude, man. It's how I talk. You shouldn't be so brutal about a man's speech, innit?"

"But it's okay to call someone a ****** milkman....?"

"It was a postman anyways. His son owns the mobile phone shop in the town. That weird one that sells ******* tropical fish too."

"Why are we having this discussion again?"

"How much for..."

"Thirty quid. Satisfied?"

"Seen....what shop was it? Boots?"

"You're ******* aren't you? I don't know why I allow myself to get dragged into this. I feel like yesterday's ******* laundry. And you're the tumble dryer, you *******. Do you not sleep?"

"Okay. But where..."

"Jesus H! I got them off a ******* ***** ******-up behind the YMCA. He was a right **** and demanded fifteen quid. Per shoe. Seriously! Then he wanted cigarettes and a chat about life on the road."

"That's good of him though. That's an act of kindness...."

"No, he was ******* himself laughing while I ranted about over the lost shoe. Then he called me over. He talked me into it, the old ***."

"Let's see them then?"

"You can't. I threw them in the bin. They smelled of ****."

"Why not just buy the one shoe with number one on it..."

"You mean ***** ****?"

"Yeah and the other one's got number two on it. You got one, two buckle my shoe. Plus I heard the smell of **** cancels out ****. Like in maths when you do fractions and that..."

"What school did you attend again?"

"Duuh. Your school. Anyway you shouldn't call 'em tramps, man. They're just called homeless people now."

"What have we learned so far, eh? You've kept me up to ridicule me about my shoes. You've extracted the crude embarrassment of my squeamish dislike for dog ****. You've highlighted the importance of not bartering with... homeless people prior to smelling the goods. Why?"

"I dunno. I wasn't even thinking about that. It was something else..."

"What? What was it? How to turn ***** into custard? Why fleas don't get AIDS? What type of cabbage leaf best absorbs breast milk? What was it, eh?"

"Umm... nah, nothing. Forget it. Goodnight, bro."

"No, no, no. You can't just do that... you know it ****** me off. What were you thinking. I demand to know. Tell me!"
James Khan Jan 15

(sigh) "Hey"


"What? What did you say? I thought you.."

"FGM, bro. Loving it too much!"

"Are you actually ******* sick in the head? Do you know the suffering those people endure...? Have you any conceivable idea about what happens to them?"

"Yeah. They get married. People have a party. It's great. God loves it now!"

"I... I can't actually... I can't do this. This is too much. Even for you. You're a sick **** and you're going to suffer for it, I swear to holy Christ..."

"Woah, woah. Back up Torquemada...are you some kind of... you know... homophobe?"

"What the...?! How ******* dare you you accuse me of prejudice when you'd see a child mutilated and then praise its suffering! You sanctimonious...!"

"Dude you are ******* ******-tunes! How is *** marriage a ritual sacrifice?"

"What?! You said you'd have a ******* party! You just said that."

"Yeah. Who wouldn't celebrate a wedding. What are you, a ******* Trappist or a latent homosexual?"


"FGM. First *** Marriage! Right?! Jesus, you're slow as effery, man."

" can't say those letters. need a bigger acronym."

"Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish Ladies... Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain...
for we've received orders for to sail for old England..."

"You also need locking up."
James Khan Jan 14
"When is a hole not a hole?-
When it's got half missing!"

"What logic is that?
Next you'll ask me to stick the ******* tail on the Ouroboros!"

"Calm, gee... consider this then; three bulls in a room with five exits and the signs say 'pick a door'...what you gonna do?"

"That's ******; like the one about the tree falling in the forest..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know-
if the tree falls and no-one you know is underneath it, do you actually give a ****?"

"What?! That's not right. What... are you on drugs or something?"

"Actually I'm in recovery, bro...
from sobriety..."

"That's not even funny!"

"Yeah but this is: cigarettes tell you you'll ******* die if you smoke them-
***** just tells you how fruity and delicious the **** inside actually is..."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning I don't buy a four pack of Heineken and see 'DRINKING MAY CAUSE YOU TO DRIVE INTO CHILDREN' on the front...


"You like that, eh? In the UK they put pictures of diseased lungs and dead bodies on the cigarette packets... they're considering putting emaciated cows and abused chickens on the meat and ******* eggs, man.... its a vegan coup!
But do you buy your Jack and Stella and see a three-car pile up or a homeless addict in a ******* anorak outside Tesco...?"

"That's the most sense I've ever heard you say. It's almost... profound. I'm speechless."

"Good. You talk too much."
As a schizophrenic fruitcake, having an argument with myself in a dangerously unstable parody of Homer Simpson is as easy as weaving baskets. Sometimes I make sense. Who knew?!
Austin Draper Jan 12
I chase the Labels
I sanction the pain, if I am able.
I share, and take a path once again with the angels.
I send it, and yet without recognition a lingering mind cradles,
“What of the purpose of failed stories, these are bad fables!”
Beauty has no purpose if it naught contort other faces.
If it not make cross all those of lesser way, is it stable?
This is my thought, as I spill more hearts across the table.

Time after time, I make old things newly exhumed.
Backing them with memories, dusted and altered now recovered.
And now, I sit back and have the passion of yesteryear removed.
The corpse of my old soul’s death, I dissinter.

I did surge in eyes,
Many viewed my struggles then.
Of a Dog’s passing.

My mind was made now.
Passion is what they will crave.
So, making story.

Dried have my tears now.
A world unfit for crying.
One without color.

I make my own God’s
They bow out slowly from me
Apostle of Death.

Words said so often
Stories made so frequently
There is no purpose.

When covering broad things then,
Be afraid of toes
They strike fear into future.

Now, a little down the track.
I reside in a mental shack.
Hobbled, squatted and no decor knack.
A youth enters, with a small sash on back.
I sit, Brandy laces my breath as I address this little boy jack.
“Boy, so you are called by jack? What brings you to this stack?”
“I came to ask, why so ambiguous? Let’s clean up this rack!”
(Birthed of mold and creases, this trailer now sat lone among the dirt it inhabited.
The worms itself even mourned for the sight of it, for great sadness was in the structure itself.
Wheels, low to the ground and suspensions worn from distance.
A white tint, so complacent a staple then.
A single window, cracked and closed with brown and yellow patterned curtains.
The inside, a victim of circumstance. Clothes, and stains lined it’s interior.)
“We get it boy Jack! Please leave with your nuance as I die a Slumps Snack!”
“Why are you afraid? Why are you afraid of your shack?”
“Well, it’s all filthy and filled with garbage! With nobody else giving it a whack!”
“Why are you afraid? To write again?”

“I fear nothing. I make my words and I speak my silence.”
“You do fear something, and I know what it is.”
“Get out kid, I’m drinking. I don’t need company now or ever!”
“Then why do I find you wallow for somebody to take you off the brandy?”
“Who even are you? A younger me or some ****?”
“Maybe, in a story that is.”
“I don’t know what you hear, but I’ll stick it through. Always done on my own.”
“That’s not true is it? You would have nothing without nobody.”
“Bah, what do I care for em? They gave me my dues and I make my own wringer now.”
“You’re afraid, not specifically of death. But, what comes from a life deserved of it.”
“I don’t fear nothing, I speak my mind and I fear nobody.”
“But you fear a different death, or more truthful a life of intangibility.”
“I see myself, and I understand myself.”
“But you’re afraid, why? Why fear to express yourself like you’ve done before?”
“It’s nothing then.”
(I pick up a paper, it has his uploads list. I take the laptop that sids languidly on his Dinner table.
It sits in the darkest reaches of the habitation, and it’s a fingerprint trap.
The dust seems gravitated towards it, yet the wear on it shows it’s use.)
“You post them don’t you?”
“Yes, I hope to inspire people.”
“Oh, but that’s simply not the whole of it now is it?”
“You are afraid. I know you, I am in you and everybody.”
“What is this? I lost my patience with tasteless poetic semantics kid.”
“Still have the grammar I see.”
“Bah, get on with it and be out.”
“I am a boy, so simple in title and without description. I transcend my role here. Because, when it comes to it, I am every role. Inquiry’s of life, pushing the bounds of the story. I am characterized of the nature the author explores. The world made reality.”
“Nice speech, I’ve never been one for long narratives.”
“You should be, I know you. I’ve cohabitated with your characters. I know them.”
“You’re just a kid in a dialogue, no more than I am a drunkard in a concept.”
“Ah yes, we’re dealing in conceptual thought. So, that means I lack the limits of single placement. I am wherever and always.”
“Sure. Get it on and done with.”
“Why are you afraid? Of this Shack, Continuing this Rhyme or furthering me?”
“I, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know or you don’t want to admit?”
“Fine! I’m afraid, because I feel like I’m not good enough. Not deserving of this shack, nor of beauty nor to continue you or my works. Afraid, that the world is beyond my style. That I’m saying all the wrong things. ”
“That’s it, just pestering my inner thoughts with your inquiry, so funny kid!”
“I know why, but admit it to the full of yourself. I know you write this with half your mind, as do you many things with only half. When you have a whole as oft you do when you write, you can make beautiful things.”
“What’s it to ya?”
“It’s me to me. Without you, or those like you I have no meaning. I have stories to inhabit. We are but to write, Austin. I am young, because even though I am old as every story, there are never going to be a limit of stories. A limit of creativity.”
“Get out of here with your Kindergarten ****. Things change, change into a norm.”
“Ah, but what are bars but to be broken? Why do you think us humans make them on ourselves? Maybe because we understand that even nature, is an obstacle to break through. And we’re training ourselves for a transcendence of sorts.”
“I used to speak Meaningless as a second Language, and let me tell you to get off this *******.”
“Admit it, you can never run from me. You hide, you deny it and you taught yourself to others. You grow sick of me, yet your biggest smiles are making the same words into new tapestries.”
“I used to, before it all became the same poems again. Before, I realised that all the Ideas I had couldn’t be realised.”
“I know you’re fear, since you can now be acknowledged, you want it. But remember a time. Come with me.”

A time of great Felicity
A boy, with emotions undocumented and no contentment.
One, who pursues the sadness of his heart for the future of his joy.
Who chases down the roots of his suffering, to uncover future satisfaction.
You write them, so you can relate to yourself in gladness.
You write them, because they help you remember that you can be bliss.
And the amount of their being, gets you lost in a forgotten ecstacy.
A grave of your prime, now sold to those you truly forget to smile.
When they were all but a vague Happiness.

“You see? Write them for you. Write them to edify yourself first. Write them, because even if they are only to yourself, some things need to be admitted. Some things need to be written.”
“You know, I guess I’ll pick it up in my spare time.”
“I know you’ve got plenty of that.”
“Ah ***** off! Wise kid huh.”
“Don’t be sad, they were great poems for you. Still write them, but only when you want to.”
“What do you mean? I’ve always loved too.”
“Sometimes, you don’t have the passion. Experiments require passion.”
“I don’t need any number of them. And, I’ll write of my new pains.”
“Exactly, tell them about things that need justice.”
“Of course.”
“Just, tell them about me huh?”
“I’ll fit you in somewhere.”
(His soul was made less shallow, and his craving for meaning sated.
The witness of his meanings were for all of his dreams ill fated.
Now, he can write all the small things. Just like his old works, equally loved and weighted.
Things less inclusive, and more a thing of specific purpose created.
He love his old works, his children have made him elated.
But, he wants to try something new but related.)

I’m Jack, the Great I am.
And take this from his creativity,
Nothing means Everything
Tales of life come from small places.
A long Poem I made just a few days ago, about my realizations about my passion. I hope to inspire people, I really do. But, in the end these poems are like a personal journal of mine. And, they are all very dear to me. And, I make them for myself. I just hope some of my realizations can help you out too.  (A A a a A a A A}w* s*x3}5 7 5}x4}7 5 7}[Rhymes Mixed with Dialogue]}[Dialogue]}w* s*x7}[Dialogue] Cx5} [Ending]}
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