trembling
holding the desired tool
her hands were trembling
ice cold
looking almost inhuman
quaking like a knife was placed in her hands and
she had to either **** her love or
herself.

she did it to distract herself from the demons that were
scratching and ****** her from the inside just needing to come out some way.

so she was generous enough to make a vertical pathway for them to escape.

tea biscuit madness
running around my yard while sitting in bed
pushing on my teeth hard with my fingertips until they hurt
i hate to say the word "ache"
but my body is a voodoo doll left uncontrolled for too long,
and my seams are unraveling.
my chest is a glass
too small for the rose it contains
and although it's wilting
there's still a crack here and there

and tell me why I can't say "i love you"
without a hot, sick feeling rising through me every time?

tell me why i'm still here
tell me why i still think i'm needed

it's almost like saying:
   atheism
                                   and theism, or deism
or whatever.

                                  it's rought comparison,
but that's the best i could ever hope
to allude to...

      concerning the aye, eye, i...

                       oko:                 eye,

                              okno:               window

     oczko:
                                       a little eye, typically
                       of a baby;

judasz / judas: the peeping hole
                                            in your front door.

                   bilingualism is like
a mongolian horde in terms
                                 of etymological
"struggles", i.e. introspections...

i can't even begin the platonic
                     assertion of form-morphing
that's translated into
     darwinism of
          monkey into an ape...

  as someone who's into artistotle more
than into plato, because he's more
into shakespeare's dialogues than plato's...

    i don't buy the platonic crap
in darwinism...
                                  it would be, perfect,
if we were all reduced to monkey form,
and picked out one type of monkey
as our origins...
             what, *******, point, would,
a ****-brick sized gorilla ever need to evolve?

      a gorilla that could wrestle a tiger
and pin him to the floor, while breaking his jaw?
the **** is this?!

                  or right... choose a chimp...
but not a macaque monkey...
                                 i'll just do what atheist
youtubers do...           in terms of language:
                                              ******* imbecile!
pointless platonic imbeciles!
              darwinism = platonism...
                  god, in the now, now, now...
        now i should be exhibit (c) in a zoo...
or playing that ******* wormhole of a game
that's the sims...
         eugenics didn't move it far along
the argument scale, that we needed
to play "god" while playing the sims...

there's nothing worth an aristotle in the framework
of darwinism...
               darwinism is platonic...
       it arises from the head, and the abstract,
rather than on the basis of the senses,
that said:
               as one hindu guru said:
why aren't there more monkeys evolving,
turning into neanderthals?

             the more atheists call others *******,
we'll be swimming ad infinitum ad nauseam
in circles, concerning ourselves with
   arguments, that... well...
                     are best summarised by a cat's
meow of concern for
                   the arguments in themselves...
           bo'h-                              -ring!
oh look,                  retards either direction;
if that's what humanism has come down to...

seriously... if i were a gorilla... why would
i want to devolve?
                              so i can be subordinate
to beta-males' taxation rules of governing me?
    punch the ******* in the face, and move on...

to me, aristotle would have rejected darwinism,
but plato? ooh hoo hoo... he'd be darwin's first disciple;
******* ponces.

  don't bother questioning whether
poetry requires objectivity...
               it's a non-objective form of expression...
   as it was never supposed to be...
    take your 1 + 1 = 2 elsewhere, and ponder it there.

Type all the thoughts
Tenderness Torture
Trips that tries the tendencies
Tempts till the tricky turns
Traces the track to transition
Type these trending thoughts
Turn the trap on

When I awoke I was sailing among the stars..
No water below no gravity at all..
The ship was made of wood and her sails made of strange golden light..
For the moment I forgot about the Earth..
For the moment I forgot about home..
I was all alone on this ship sailing toward the center of our galaxy..
There was a guitar inside the captains champers..
I took it outside and played to all the passing stars..
I played and I played for light years that seem like seconds..
The stars shined brighter and brighter the longer I played.
That is until reached the center of the galaxy..
It was there I met with all the other ships.
All sailing from home..
To come home..
There were 3 of them..
Each one of them had a different instrument..
We stood there at the center of the galaxy and begin to play for eternity.
We spun the star circle..

LEARN FROM THE OWL!
Many of us think of the owl
As a foolish, ugly fowl:
It can neither strut like a peacock,
Flaunting colourful plumes,
Nor, like the shy nightingale,
Sweetly sing, every spring:
But the sages of ancient Greece,
Seeing  the night bird's virtues rare,
Said nothing foul about the owl,
Admired its bright round eyes,
Sharp and keen, able to see its way
And fly in the darkness of night:
Eyes, quite strange, looking not sideways,
But always straight and always right
And quickly turn its agile neck
And see all things happening
Behind its back as  well as front!
In all directions ,the owl can see
But, from different angles do we ever see?
Boastful humans, full of pride,
Who speak ill of the humble owl
Can scarcely match the skilful owl,
And a poet who loved this little bird, wrote -
"A wise old owl sat on an oak,
The more he saw, the less he spoke,
  The less he spoke the more he heard,
   Why can't we be, like the wise old bird!?"
                  *** M.G.Narasimha Murthy,
Hyderabad, India.