I copped a telescope—
small joint, commercial ****,
straight off the block,
but it ran me a grand.
A thousand bucks! Yo, that’s mad stacks,
a whole lotta bread.
But it’s worth the cheddar.
‘Cause this thing? It’s x200,
peepin’ far out, deep into the distance.
Eyeballs ain’t built for that stretch,
but this scope? ****, it reaches…
not the stars or the moon, nah,
just the window of that high-rise across the way.
Now I’m posted, spyin’ on the neighbors smashin’.

Not ‘cause I can’t pull up some *** on the net—
that ain’t it.
I’m clockin’ ‘em—
how they live, how they beef, how they bang—
‘cause I got this hunch
they doin’ all that **** better than me.
Not sayin’ I’m pressed or green-eyed,
but every time I think someone’s out here outshinin’ me,
I freeze up, mind spinnin’ like a hadron collider.

To the cat who ain’t good with what he got,
who’s buggin’ over life’s big “why,”
who’s always chasin’ somethin’ fatter,
never hyped on himself,
who’s mad for star-gazin’—
that dude’s the one peekin’ through the scope,
catchin’ astronauts up in the ISS,
floatin’ past in low orbit,
starin’ back through the porthole,
flippin’ me the bird.
‘Cause once you touch the stars,
all you wanna do is squint back down,
to Earth,
at you—
the broke-***, washed-up loser.

I stared at the cinderblock wall, kudzu clawin’ up wild,  
A green chokehold sprawlin’ ‘cross this Tennessee hollow,  
Life flickers in me, a match struck on a humid night,  
But leukemia’s creepin’, a month to ***** my candle’s glow.  
Sixteen and I’m done, no worse than folks who linger here,  
The sun meltin’ over the Smokies, the sweetgum air—why ain’t it mine?  
I despise death’s slow drag, its damp, cold fingers on my neck,  
Not scared—just ******, a fire ragin’ in veins gone icy.  

A dream once slunk in, like a copperhead through the pines,  
Cross my warped floorboards, me froze, watchin’ it glide,  
No fangs, no strike, just sickness coilin’ in its hush,  
Woke me to the truth—my end’s stalkin’ these backroads quiet.  
Why me leavin’ while others grill burgers in the dusk?  
This land’s too pretty—cornfields gold, mockin’ my rot,  
I’d toss a Molotov at it all, this carefree Cumberland sprawl,  
If my arms had the grit to torch my **** fate.  

The world churns on, deaf to my hollerin’ from the porch,  
Beauty cuts deep—crickets chirpin’ a song I can’t keep.  
Everybody’s fightin’ to breathe, no soul less than me,  
But what’s it worth when death’s got my number dialed?  
I chuck my truth like a deer stand spear, unmissable,  
To God, to life, to folks cruisin’ Main Street clueless,  
At sixteen, dread’s my gospel, my rebel yell,  
A war cry howled, so this whole county might pay up.  

Life’s a gift for us about to get yanked away,  
We cling tight to what’s rippin’ loose in the wind,  
My ache, my envy for kids racin’ four-wheelers, unborn,  
No hate—just a love for livin’, sharp as a switchblade.  
Through cussin’ and jealousy’s hot sting, I thread a tune,  
A jagged love song hummin’ over the TVA hum,  
Reckon this truth, let your own gripes loose like hounds,  
I ain’t kneelin’ to anything . And I am proudly mad.

Epigraph: "Night, I love you like a rose enfolds"
naǧí

Night, I don’t love you.
Like a scorpion crushed under the boot
of some drunk cowboy stumbling back
to his trailer after last call at the *****-tonk,
out behind my sorry-***, run-down rental
on the outskirts of Lubbock.

Like a rancher
with a backbone of solid steel,
no time for whinin’
about how hard life’s been—
“Poor me, can’t catch a break, y’all”—
and who never, not once,
sees a **** thing wrong
in the pitch-black of a moonless sky.
Whiskey? Sure, I’ll take a shot,
but pills or powders? Nah, never touched ’em,
and I still can’t figure out why.

I hate you,
like a trucker on I-10,
pushing through another sleepless haul,
with nothing but the hum of tires
and the glow of dashboard lights—
and if I stop, I’m *******,
contract broken, paycheck gone.

Like a programmer in some freaking startup,
wasting his life
on lines of code no one’ll ever read,
every comment a curse,
every bug a reminder
this whole **** app’s gonna crash and burn.

Like a plumber out in Waco,
dragged outta bed at 2 a.m.
by some rich guy with a mansion on the lake,
kneelin’ in some fancy bathroom,
elbow-deep in someone else’s crap,
trying to figure out
why the hell this gold-plated toilet won’t flush.

Frustrated and worn thin,
I’m sinkin’
in your endless void
of problems with no solutions.
I hate you
like the last flicker of a campfire
doused by the cold, unfeeling dark.

Child support’s what you need, a new dude, the old one’s ghosted,
And Chatty Cathys who nods along, never speaking nonsense.
You reach out to folks, craving love, empathy, and care—
But they hit you with, “Chill, let it slide, don’t even stare.”
What’s that even mean— “let it slide, let it go—where?”
Why don’t y’all just bounce with your nonsense and bang your heads on a wall somewhere?

Yeah, I’ll leave, since you insist, it’s crystal clear—
Cause I’ve annoyed you terribly,
and in every way.
But still, I’ll cling to a pointless hope,
that maybe—just maybe—you’ll call me back, and I’ll cope.

But while I’m not called back, with Chatty Cathys in tow,
I’ll hit up church—been meaning to—join the holy show.
Don’t trip, it’s just me, that’s how I roll,
I’ll go there—cross my heart—pay my toll.
Light a candle for myself—for my soul’s repose.
I’ll burn in hell for now, I s'pose.

And when I’m roasted in that fiery pit, you’ll yell,
“Serves you right!”
“Why’d you ride for every clown in sight?
Go smash her, you freak, you hopeless case.”
But how can I, when I’m already dust in this place?
I’m stuck in hell from the last life’s race.
And you’ll snap back, “Aha! So you had it all mapped!
You’re a creep, through and through—burn in hell, you’re trapped!”
I’ll sigh, “Here we go again…”
And off I’ll stomp, my fate sealed, my end.

So I roll up to this spot, now like home to me—
Smells like fire and decay, far as I can see.
And there, the Devil himself steps out, whining weak,
“Yo, what’s this? Look who’s back! Man, I’m beat!
I can’t even punish you no more—I’m fresh outta tricks,
And space? Bro, it’s packed to the bricks.
Your wife—****, she’s fire, no cap!
Not just her curves, but her soul’s on tap.
We tried to learn from her, but flopped,
And in the end, we all just dropped.
A line of fools like you clings to my gate,
‘Cause that dude with heaven’s keys procrastinates.
He saves his juice, the stingy hack,
Dodges his job, won’t cut no slack.
If anyone shows at his door,
He checks with your wife, then shows ‘em the floor.
He lets no one into heaven’s halls,
‘Cept Lady D—she’s saintly, after all.”

I bounced back—and since then, I’ve wandered—
Here and there, in circles, I’ve squandered.
This twisted life chews me up, rips me apart.
I’m neither here nor there—just lost, no start.
I’m in some quantum state, it’s wild.
Like being bent over—but in reverse style.
So be it—I’ll vibe with this murky grind.
Six feet under, I’ll still be the same,
And life won’t teach me no game.

Just make sure, oh Lord, my wife loves me
again.

I stepped out—for bread.
The rain, a silver needle, embroidering the diaphanous gauze of the atmosphere.
Thoughts, like feral hounds, prowled and dragged me
astray, to the wrong street.
And there—
the abyss.

No bread here.
Only the void, yawning wide, insatiable, ravenous,
a Grand Canyon, misplaced in the geometric monotony
of concrete blocks—a scar on the skin of the ordinary.
Who sanctioned this?
Who gouged this chasm into the fabric of the mundane,
this rupture in the tapestry of the everyday?

We inhabit a world where everything
appears to matter—
blueprints, ideals, the ceaseless scramble for triumph,
the Sisyphean climb toward some illusory summit.
But time, that insidious thief, that silent eroder,
dissolves it all into the silt of oblivion.
What endures?
Laughter.

Laughter—not mirth, but a gasp,
a surrender to the absurd, a white flag waved
at the futility of it all.
It is the sound of a man
teetering on the precipice,
howling into the void
and hearing only his own echo reverberate,
a hollow chorus of his own insignificance.

But nothing matters only
when you are solitary,
when the world contracts to the size of your skull.
No wife, no child, no anniversaries to commemorate.
No one to observe, to decipher, to adore.
Laughter then is not liberation—
it is the wail of the forsaken,
the cry of a soul unmoored, adrift in the vast, indifferent sea.

Imagine the edge.
The abyss below, fathomless, voracious,
its maw gaping, hungry for meaning.
You can shriek, sob, summon aid—
but no one answers.
And so you laugh.
Not because it is droll,
but because it is the sole retort left to you,
the last weapon in your arsenal against the void.

If we cannot alter anything—
if the gears of fate grind on, indifferent to our pleas—
why even endeavor?

Insignificance is not a curse.
It is a peculiar emancipation,
a shedding of the weight of expectation.
Your blunders, your trepidations, your aspirations—
they are sandcastles, ephemeral and frail,
washed away by the tide of eternity.
Yet there is splendor in the act of construction,
in the fleeting defiance of entropy.

Even stone crumbles.
Even the most impregnable bastions succumb to time’s relentless siege.
Laughter cannot nourish the famished,
cannot solace the lovelorn.
It is a spark, evanescent,
a brief luminescence in the abyssal dark,
a fleeting exertion to convince yourself
that anguish and torment are illusory,
that the weight of existence is but a shadow on the wall.
And it is, perversely, amusing.

Yo, I’m a Lebanese don, French-teachin’ beast,  
Spittin’ verbs for a livin’, my game’s never ceased,  
Life’s sorted, bruv, proper mint, no cap,  
Hundred grand in the bag, four days, that’s a wrap,  
Easy street, fam, August, July, I’m blessed,  
Vacay on lock, mate, I’m set, no stress.  

Canada’s my turf, ****’s sweet up here,  
Got a crib, no drama, just vibes, crystal clear,  
No kids in the mix, though, that’s the sting,  
Empty nest, fam, no heirs to the king.  

Paycheck? Don’t sweat it, I’m good, I’m straight,  
Fifty on the clock, still holdin’ my weight,  
Mortgage? Ghosted that **** long ago,  
Now I’m thumb-twiddlin’, nowhere to go,  
No sprogs to raise, yeah, it bites, innit,  
Said it before, fam, what’s the fix?
****.  

Wife’s a brick wall, ******’ frigid, no lie,  
Cold as ice, mate, I’m barely gettin’ by,  
Still, I keep it chill, motto’s real tight—  
Sleep sound, don’t clown, no evil in sight,  
**** the big questions, I ain’t losin’ my head,  
“What’s the point?” Who cares? I’m alive, not dead,  
French in Canada? Bruv, they don’t give a toss,  
Hang myself for that? Nah, that’s a loss.  

I’m jabbed to the max, health’s on lock, no fear,  
Swine flu, Zika, Covid, ticks in my ear,  
Cholera, malaria, typhoid, I’m clean,  
Vaginal cancer? Mate, that’s obscene,  
Won’t step out ‘less insurance got my back,  
Bus stop trek’s a risk, that’s a fact,  
STD paranoia’s got me wired, no slack,  
But that edge keeps the fire in my sack.  

Check it—I’m sharp, details on blast,  
******’s tight like fibre optic, built to last,  
High-speed bandwidth, safe as ****, fam,  
Nerves shot to ****, but I still got a plan,  
Mission one, top tier, no debate,  
Find a **** bird, but keep it digi, mate,  
Cloud server’s my turf, that’s the play,  
No real-world mess, just slay all day.  

Half-******, I flop, laptop’s my throne,  
face book the spot, I’m in the zone,  
Bam—there’s Tasha, she’s live, she’s real,  
Chattin’ me up, bruv, that’s the deal.  

----
Tasha:

Yo, darling, been holdin’ it down for years,
Waitin’ on you, fam, drownin’ in tears,
Missed you my whole **** life, no lie,
I’d jump your bones now—****, I’d try,
But chill—let’s vibe, spit some chat online,
French on your tongue? ****, that’s fine,
I’m all English, bruv, proper slick,
Tasha’s the name, I’m your pick.

Dreamin’ of linkin’, it’s crystal clear,
Post your fifty, my spark’s right here,
Life’s rebooted, fresh off the press,
You’re the plug, fam, no stress.

I’ve scoped the game, clocked every face,
Life’s ****** me raw, tossed me ‘round the place,
Schooled me hard, threw me to the grind,
But you? Ain’t no basic *****, you’re kind,

Sweet as ****, seasoned, not stale,
****’s a beast—lush, mate, off the scale.
England’s my gift, you’ll learn it fast,
England raised me, built me to last,
Banged Chaucer, wild in the sack,
****** off Boris—yo, that’s a fact!

Split my whole life, you were gone too long,
Now we’re locked, bruv, duet so strong,
Ache was hell, nothin’ cut so deep,
This win’s the ****—top prize I keep.

Be my man, fam, sling some dough,
PayPal’s poppin’, let it flow,
Drop what you got to the spot I sent,
Smooches, love — your Lulu’s bent.

----

Yo, I clock off, stumble in, wife’s laid up in bed,
Hospital vibes, fam, I’m done, brain dead,
Doc hits my line, stressin’, voice all shrill,
“She’s ******, bruv—hip’s toast, sugar’s ill,
Still kickin’, though, that cow’s got years,
Tech’s a *****, mate, progress interferes.”

I’m mute, he’s like, “Oi, you still there?”
Yeah, doc, right here, aggro in the air,
Say I’m tuned in, but my head’s a void—
Nah, **** that, I’m strippin’ birds in my mind, overjoyed,
Drop the call, scream in my skull instead—
“You bled me dry, you ****, ****** red!
Croak already, quit screwin’ my mind!”
Grab a rag, wax the floors, leave ‘em signed,
Hallway, bog, slick as ****, no slack,
So this Yankee ***** trips and cracks her back,
Broken hip? Love, you don’t even know,
I’m knackered to death of your limp-*** show,
Welcome home, *****—slip and eat the floor!

What the ****, fam—why’d I hit fifty?
No kids, crib’s a tomb, life’s shifty,
Clinic’s my local, sixty’s on the creep,
Lost in the sauce, tangled deep,
Ain’t smashed in thirty, dry as a bone,
Time to flip the script, set a new tone.

Back at it—plop down, comp’s my shrine,
Plug my **** in the socket, spark’s divine,
Pray to Wi-Fi gods, tissue in my grip,
Feel that buzz, bruv, bones start to rip,

Electric surge, crashin’ the Channel’s flow,
Lebanon’s ghosted, England’s my show,
Moors, rain, mad ****, rugged as ****,
Heathcliff’s smashin’ Cathy, pure luck,

Culture’s deep, soul’s raw, filth in the air,
English birds kneel for a foreign affair,
Not some local ****, but a hybrid king—
Lebanese-Yank, bruv, hear ‘em sing.

Sit at the screen, tik-tok my domain,
Tap up a baddie—fit, stacked, insane,
Lonely, hot, English, she’s the one,
Lebanese saints—miracle’s begun!

Connected, no cap, I’ve broke through the haze,
“Alright, Mandy!”—time to blaze.
----
Mandy:

Out past the chippy, ‘round Kirkby’s end,
Lasses clocked a lad, not one of our send,
No local divvy — this one’s pure mad,
Foreign as ****, Lebanese lad.

We’re all gobsmacked, jaws on the floor,
What’s this global ****** knockin’ our door?
Never copped a geezer this off the chain,
Some Beirut oddball, proper strange.

Our Scouse lads? They’re gone to ****,
Lost the plot, proper threw a fit,
****** all day, scrappin’, necks in a noose,
Wasted away, rotting, no use,

Not a soul left, streets bare and grim,
Echoes of ale and a fightin’ hymn.
Ain’t no clouds dimmin’ the Mersey sky,
It’s vultures circlin’, ready to fly,

Mad Asians, hill blokes, swoopin’ in fast,
Eyein’ up a fit bird to ****** and blast,
Who’s savin’ her **** from that grim fate?
Who’s the poor cow prayin’ on late?

My ray of hope, chase off the dark,
Smash them ****** out, leave your mark,
Drop a sweet note, let it soar on cue,
Wings over waves to your Scouse bird true,

Loyal as ****, young, holdin’ it down,
Waitin’ for ages, cash to crown,
Western Union boost, fatten my stack,
Smooches, lad, love — Nia’s back.

------------------------------------

Yo, I stumble in, deadass beat, tryna get turnt,
Mailbox hit me with a curveball—petition? Ain’t this some dirt?
Local party clowns, straight wastemen, no cap,
“No cyber-******* crashin’ our vote, oh snap!
Save our bacon, fam, don’t wanna flop,
Wire a bag quick—address, don’t stop.

Bunch of muppets, fam, proper plonkers,
Cut me off from Lisa? That’s the final bonkers.
They lost the plot, heads up their ***,
Bust a hip for twenty-five, then chat pure dumb,
English bodied the French, history’s facts,
Now it’s Canada, Lebanon—throw ‘em the axe,
Chinese, Indians, whoever’s in sight,
I’m pickin’ “Wellington” from the bird site—
Fam, she’s peng, a baddie, no cap,
Wigan bound, I’m baggin’ her back,
Stateside we roll, her fam’s gonna vibe,
Brewskis with her bro, I’m in the tribe,
Sis, niece, mates, uni squad too,
They’ll stan me hard, like I’m fam, true,
Screamin’ as one—“Christ, what a plot twist!
Lebanon, British — same **** list!”

We’re locked in, fam, side by side we ride,
Hitched up proper, bells ringin’ wide,
Her lit teacher blessin’, English flair,
Bangin’ forever, love’s rare air,
Our kiddos’ll crash the net, rule the sphere,
Universal dons, crystal clear.

Back to the comp, tissue in my clutch,
Facebook my jam, babe, feel the rush,
Router’s fryin’ hot, joy’s overload,
“Alright, Lowri!”—I’m set to explode.

------------------

Lowri:

Yo, where you at, bruv? Day’s been too long,
Some side chick snag ya? Nah, I’m still strong,
Don’t twist it up—I ain’t ******, no sweat,
Kiss me quick, squeeze me tight, place your bet.

We’re glued, fam, thick like thieves in the night,
No one’s rippin’ us—step off, take flight,
Time and space kneel, I’m the queen of the grind,
Runnin’ this ****, fam, lovin’ the bind.

I hold the world down, red tape’s my throne,
Launchin’ rockets up or blastin’ ‘em blown,
Revolutions spark, I’m the match, no cap,
Migration’s dodge, climate’s clapped—I’m that.

Stocks dip or soar, ‘cause I say it’s so,
Check me—clean, foamy, waxed to glow,
**** on point, clip’s locked, hormones hum,
Proper hard for ya, fam, feel the drum.

What’s this? Oh, snap—stripes on my chest,
Call me Mandy—nah, ditch that jest,
Shane, Nats, Lisa, pick your fave,
Morse it out—Phil, dot-dot, Gaz’s wave,
English birds been wild since the game got spun,
***** on lock, bruv, poppin’ every one.

Want it raw? Step up—card digits, now,
Don’t stall, you ****, man up, don’t bow,
“Debt repayment” stamped, we’re cashin’ that bid,
You owe English blood, French-lovin’ ****.

Bow to the bot, you Lebanese *****,
Gold-standard ****, I’m everywhere, slick,
Ballybunion born, Tralee’s my tweak,
ISS glitch—drilled the hull, peak freak.
Flooded the game, ****** gran and gramps,
Bug meets kid, corruption’s my stamps,
Mouse’s down, cat’s smashed, downloads unreal,
Kaspersky shields me — from who? Don’t squeal.

Legion’s my tag, sea’s got no size,
App Store king, bruv, watch me rise.

I iced your wife, yeah, that’s my claim,
Squat on ***** sites, playin’ the game,
Taxes flow to me, I’m the state’s core,
Speechless, fam? Eyes glued—want more?

I’m your God, your blaze, light so bright,
Squint hard, see my bush ignite.
Kiss me, grip me, hands on deck,
Party’s done, years stretch—what’s next?
Words won’t bridge us, love’s mute as ****,
Gotta jet — where? Compass stuck.

Smooches, crew, catch ya down the road,
Fam, I’m set to unload,
Strap 3 clearance, runnin’ this game,
Hackin’, *******’, skivin’ on the sly,
Kirkby’s dodgiest, Her Maj’s wild guy,
Kneel, *******,
to Senior Intel Sarge Pritchard!

By!

When you’re old, don’t you dare
show up to church in some frumpy headscarf,
don’t bow low, don’t beg, “Father, bless me.”
Walk in *******, head held high,
rocking a deep V-neck like a boss,
fists clenched tight,
no folding them in prayer.
Sing it loud and proud:
“Lord, cut me some slack,
forgive my ex-husband—or don’t, whatever—
and spare some love to the ones
who really need it.”

When you’re old, storm into that church like you own the place,
kick the door open like a badass.
No sighing, no “Oh my God” nonsense.
God’s got your back—you’re good.
Who’s that guy up there on the pulpit, droning on?
The real boss of this church is a woman—
even if she’s old as dirt, even if
she’s rolling in on wheels.

Enough with the suffering, the hand-wringing,
the moping and groveling—since when is that a woman’s job?
Too much time’s passed to even keep track
of whatever sins you’re supposed to regret.
What did I even do wrong?
And what was the point of it all anyway?
Will forgetting lead me to hell?
If your memory’s shot, just read from a note
you scribbled beforehand:
“Lord, who gives a **** who I slept with back in the day.
That’s just how it had to go.
*******.”