In the silence of a day like today
In the wake of yesterday's dreams
Forgetfulness feels like noncompliance
In a world where defiance still seems
Like a benign inaction of innocence
Though it feels like a stabbing of spite
Willing to kneel to your Goddess
Yet unable to yeild to Her might
There is no weakness to worship at Her altar
It takes strength to relinquish control
Relax and trust in the knowledge
Acquiesce and watch it unfold
There is freedom in the smile of an angel
There is love to be had all around
There is power in making Her smile
Don't be the sadness beind every frown
Inaction, as innocent as it seems
Breeds disappointment that infects every smile
And all those little requests
Will stop being wanted after awhile
See, for all the deeds left unfinished
And all those tiny tasks left undone
Will chisel away Her hearts desire
Leaving Her another invisible no one
An empty shell of a Goddess
Whose glory, in your heart will remain
While She curses her very existence
Languishing in true-love's refrain

A hero in a book or movie.
Fighting the evil queen.
Reclaming a homeland-or mountain.
Saving the world with a companion in a blue boxs.
Leading a rebelion.
Beind captain of a ship- Serenity or the USS Enterpise.
Cathing a serial killer.
Or stopping a psychotic well dressed villian.
One man or woman saving the world.
When I was younger I wished I could be like them.
But now I can barely fight the demons in my mind.
Why would I dream of saving the day when I am not sure I want to live another day?
Life is no fairy tail.
This is not Middle-Earth or Narnia.
There are villians and monsters yes but not ones that we can defeat during wizzard chess or with a want or lazer sword.
They are just as real and dangerous.
But the live in our minds.
I tried to run from the watching tv series and movies and reading books.
Dreaming of another life.
But eventualy the demons got closer to chatching up.
And no hero will be able to safe me.
I will have to fight the monsters in my head myself, all on my own.
And I hope that I will be strong and brave enough when that time comes.

I am a compilation
Of dead factions
Mangled selves
Who did not choose the right turn to
Save themselves.

I am a compilation
Of eyes set ablaze
Upon realization
of their unacknowledged
future

We are not alive if we live off lies.
This is the truth
The reason everyone dies.

Greet me
Speak every syllable of my name
In honor of those still inside
Their corpses.

Remember me.
The could have beens,
Which should have been.
What might have been better if they were?

I am filled with death
And with every word,
My every turn,
I only manage to **** more

Sing to the ones inside
The ones left beind
With no chance of being revived,
For none of you ever did exist.

Only to me.

Missing out or
being left beind
which is worse?




As if you had the choice ...

It always started with a kiss.
A kiss that shocked her from her lips to her hips
and sent her reeling down rabbit holes
searching for something that sings like hallelujah.
But by the time Gloria regained consciousness
to the sound of a needle riding an empty groove,
all she found was the window he'd left open,
And a bone;
A marrow-filled keepsake abandoned on the sill.
She wrapped it in ripped gossamer from
her grandmother's wedding veil and
placed it neatly in the closet
with all the others.
And as she reapplied the crimson lipstick,
brushed too much blush over sunken cheeks,
and outlined her eyes in waterproof mascara,
she felt the draft more than ever before.
"A home can be an awfully lonely place for love..."
she murmured to her autumn tree self,
then she stepped out of the door, lips puckered
and primed of every proof that she was
anything but a ******.

One tube of lipstick, a femur, two collarbones
and half a jaws worth of teeth later,
she sat sprucing up to that same
skipping scratch of a static-air record and
pushing the thought of how her grandmother died
alone
to the back of her mind,
as she tied perfect bows with the ribbons of veil.
"A bed can be an awfully lonely place for love..."
she whispered to her bare-finger self.
Then once more, she slipped into a city
whose slogan read:
Take it easy, it's hard beind human these days

After each season changed in a dozen different ways,
and her summer-Merilyn  blonde had
withered winter-newspaper grey,
Her knuckles and joints baptized in arthritis,
She could hardly bring the religion of her hands to
raise up the ribcage, fresh enough to
still smell of morning breath.
But this time she did not retire
to the closet turned mausoleum.
Instead, she emptied the tomb of all
these ex-lovers' left overs,
all the bare-bones of the best parts of
these midnight escape artists
who never fully got away,
and Gloria made for herself a makeshift man.
One that would never keep her warm,
but would never leave her
frozen by an open window sill either.
One with an empty chest that offered no treasures,
but didn't have the guts to chase the morning-afters.
"A heart can be an awfully lonely place for love."
she mouthed to her silent-breasted self,
as she bent down for one last
unconducted, dusty kiss.

before i begin, a pre-scriptum...
         in my hand, this minute?
                   what a rare delight...
the Beauties of Sterne:
                                with some account of his life...
printed for J. Walker,
published by J. Walker, Paternoster Row &
   J. Harris, St. Paul's Church Yard...
London... 1811!
    and being a big "fan boy" of the fiction
that a bibliophile might have an adventure:
Roman Polanski's the Ninth Gate...
   now, for a book that's... 208 years old?!
it's not in bad shape... sure...
the hardcover is missing by a half...
but all the text is intact...
              obviously colouring of the pages...
but hey... i'm not a museum...
             the book is still fiddled with...
ha ha, the opening page with a picture
reads as follows:
   there are worse occupations in this world,
than feeling a woman's pulse...
perhaps a quote about... insensibility?
   it reads as follows:
       it is the fate of mankind, too often,
to insensible of what they may enjoy at
the easiest rate (sermon XLII)...
   besides, lucky for me youtube continues
to glitch from time to time...
    now looking more in line with channels
than individual artists...
   notably? Harakiri Diat (channel)...
eh... :wumpscut, the soft machine,
demdike stare, vomito *****, feindflug
weren't enough...
          turns out... there's more...
beyond penta, matutero and GloOMy
PhAntOM... well, please, allow me:
   filmmaker - the love market,
              la ***** bianca - demian...
hell... if you want to venture into the past?
i know one band that freaked out
my ex-girlfriend... gong - flying teapot...
or that song by greenskeepers, lotion...
               i thought i'd never see someone
become freaked out about music...
curios and also highly curious, yes...
but freaked out?
                 primitive knot - puritan...
demolition group - you better...
          1986 Yugoslav minimal electro...
Bruce Roach - Gut...
              and as it turns out...
    i look from this corner of the internet and find
absolutely no need to delve into
the dark web... install Tor...
           if you really want to...
  you'll find all you need... but you need
to sift through a bibliography of a book prior
to... it's all here... this sort of material
has an inbuilt filter... it filters out
             mainstream consumers of content...
i should know...
    3 websites that banned me,
1 suspended me...
                   i crossed the threshold...
    normie poetic: outcast *****...
           yet i still sometimes happened to chance
upon a will...
           lao che - soundtrack (the whole album
is decent) -
              


.i once heard it was based upon the following maxims: bogatemu wszystko wolno (the rich are allowed anything), siła razy gwałt (force multiplied by ****)... well... over the years, that much was true... but then i conjured a reply: nie wszystko wolno bogatemu (not everything is given an allowance to be expressed by the rich) and wola odiąć gwałt (will, having substracted ****): otherwise it's still wola razy gwałt (will, multiplied by ****).

****, i only just "woke" up from
this game,
you know that game...
oh i'm pretty sure you know it...
it's called
   pass the jew along...
   rudolf höss
      cited, among the list:
ibrahim ibn yaqub,
         radhanites (there's a surd
H in there, rad-'anites)
    casimir III...
esp. the latter...
           so.. give the current h'americans,
we're still playing the globalist
nomad game of: juggling the jews,
yes, no, maybe?
so my mother tended to
two old jewish women,
because, just "because"
their sons were active in
the "economics" of passing law
and techno-literacy?
oh... right... i "see"...
                            i... "see"...
in defence, of the "neglected" ones...
makes perfect sense,
de facto 51,
                  area 51 was always
a propaganda convert term
for Israel, rather than some area
bound to Nevada, wansn't it?
wasn't it?
                      ask me again
one year from now,
did we live peacefully among the jews?
they'll tell you the joke...
didn't the jews shoot,
with riffles,
   with bent barrels / sights
aiming at themselves rather
than the nazis?
       no, no soap jokes when
it comes to yews...
the yids...
      everyone in poland just
wondered: why so pacified?
        so blatant in walking into
an inferno?
                      you know...
it took Poland longer to surrender,
while being attacked by both
the Germans and the Russians,
than it took for the Fwench
to be attacked by the sole effort
of the Germans?
    funny... that...
                               i truly admire
some nazis, for their ingenuity...
notably? erwin rommel...
   lothar von arnauld de la periè(re)...
(subtle, i give you that one,
per-y'eh...
                 'old 'ack 'old 'ck
   h-b-h-b,
                                    rein in...
otherwise perié... ergo without
                                           the -re)...
michael wittmann...
and i'm a ******...
      **** me...
they didn't bomb paris,
might as well state:
they also didn't bomb
  marienburg or most of danzig...
Warsaw? taken down,
levelled, brick by brick,
        until no brick stood on brick...
              what?!
i thought the western capitalist-ico
communist insurgents
wanted target practice?
          i thought these people
wanted nazis, no?
          i'll admit... tiki torches?
you must have never looked
at european football hooligans...
tiki torches?!
you having a bbq?
            never heard of flares?        
- mind you...
you know what's worse beside
beind ridiculed?
having your intelligence
insulted...
i.e. do i look like someone
who managed to ****
your mother with a *******
harmonica,
or, am i, bound to the responsibility,
of your parents playing
the irresponsibility card,
attempting to convey a child
into existence aged circa 50
circa 45,
and what comes out is
an autistic cucumber?!
    **** me...
try giving ****** lessons
to circa 50 year olds;
and now the paradox...
   "i'm" the "schizophrenic"...
cool cool, coolio...
     i'll just hide in that "harem's"
worth of a brothel with
the prostitutes who tell
me they get s.t.d. checks on
a regular basis, o.k.?
_____

what am i to add to this?
not much, is there...
was the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald
ever great?!
  how satisfying it is to be unable
to please the crowd....
words, after all, are not bread...
how one wishes
for an anathema rather than
a martyr's embrace...
            one begins to imagine...
then one loses interest...
then...
                    peering through
the eye of a needle
watching a camel walk through...
one spots something outside
the realm of the metaphorical miracle...
do i have to?
      what if i remain to this side
of the eye of the needle?
what riches do i have that i cling to...
books & music...
does that make me rich?
what are the sort of riches where either
people plunder readily (music),
or do not engage with to begin
with?
who are ready to read...
i can claim to be a book thief...
i stole two books from my high school
library... the quran and the scarlet &
the black by stendhal...
            "stole"... i extended their
licance of being borrowed...
how am i rich: if my riches are the riches
no one would want to steal?!
i am rich... though...
               but i am rich in a both
materialistic / non-materialistic paradox
frame...
                what i own no one wants to
steal! why steal a first cheap edition
of a dickens' novel if you're not going
to read it!
              
       **** **** ****.... if they were such
philistines... when blitzing London,
why did st. paul's remain intact?
   "coinicidence"? i don't think so...
and why did they steal all those
art-works? again, "coincidence"?

                    they were people:
i find it uncomfortable to suit them up
in transcendence,
to be: epitome evil...
  to be the übermensch...
                   they loved art as much
as they loved being the antithesis
of the golden horde: gucci, dolce & gabbana
zz top: well dressed men...

     nazis loved art and fashion,
by far the best dressed army in the world
and history...

   ol' herman and otto came back
from the eastern front to a scared wife and mother...
people! they weren't mythical creatures...
the nazis can hardly become
chimeras as they become in the minds
of pseudo-communists of the western lands...

they are hardly the epitome of evil,
i know the 21st century narrative
deems them: "the perfect example"...
come on... they're not evil embodied
with not subsequent examples to be given
to... historical capitalism of evil:
there's always someone waiting,
some group of people to stage
a competition libra... and they will...
overcome the nazis...
it's only a question of ingenuity /
imagination...
           gas chambers was only industrial...
it will become personal in the years to come...
methodologically trained cultured
barbarians woken from a slumber...

the nazis were not: philistines...
   in no defence: didn't they speed up the creation
of the state of israel?
   didn't they? **** uncle:
   lavrentiy pavlovich Beria is going to state
the matters differently?
like hell he is...

        my family also suffered in that war...
sure, not in a concentration camp:
but on the front...
             there's even a joke that my
grandfather remembers:
the jews were shooting with bent nozzles
of riffles...
   as he also remembers two ss-men
who he asked for sweets,
and they would give them to him,
he'd as them: herr! bitte bon-bon!
   sweets so sweet that he would have
to rinse his hands under water
to unglue them from the sickly in-between...
how all the insurgent soviet soldiers
were teenagers and preferred to
sleep in pigstys and among the goats
in the hay...

how did the nazis become mythological
i will never understand,
at uni i had a **** history teacher,
canadian, she really liked my essay
on napoleon... how he was a great
strategist...
akin to?  

   erwin rommel wasn't a ****...
erwin rommel was, erwin rommel...
a great strategist...
        am i supposed to thrive in this
current year of polarized *******?
it's the current topic,
i can't escape it,
  sure, i'd love to have a Wordsworth
moment, lurking in me,
or an anna akhmatova breakthough...
instead?! i'm given this sort of *******
on a platter,
  and all that's missing are the wedges
of lemon and the eager oysters to
be gulped down... lucky me!

no, i don't like how the nazis are misrepresented
as both the übermenschen:
these mythological epitomes of evil
(no greater evil is to come? really?!)
and at the same time
as philistines: they stole art,
they ensured that critically cultural
documents of architecture were left
undisturbed... st. paul's cathedral...

         it's not like some otto or moritz
didn't come back home to a wife
and children... no...
he came back to the shadow cult
of the ******* hanging over him...

you know what the most haunting experience
i have ever experienced was?
Ypres... world war I site...
visiting a german cemetary...
compared to the allies cemetary?
**** me, what a meagre sight!
           the allies were burried with marked
graves, each man to his own cross...
the german burial ground?!
  mass graves....
eh: one marker: 200 bodies in one pit...
                 and here's the 21st century with
games about shooting: zee nat'zees...

   just visit the world war I cemetaries...
the ally cemetaries? square miles...
each man with his white cross...
german cemetaries? as mass graves go...
one marker per 200+ troops...
so... not that much space required...
less: bombast!
               pride & prejudice /
   pomp & circumstance...
   which the english speaking world is...
of the latter convenience to suit the narrative.

to reiterate...
   as a ******... the whole german fetish
isn't my kind of gig...
what with my grandmother being born
on the front... given opiates at an early
age so she would not cry and allow
the soldiers to locate her and my gread-grandparents...
but...
   they were the best dressed army in
the history of warfare...
they were not philistines and they certainly
weren't the mongolian golden horde...
i.e. they stole art, notably jewish artwork...
and if a luftwaffe squadron were to drop
a bomb on st. paul's? they'd probably
be shot...
  after all... Posen wasn't destroyed,
Breslau wasn't destroyed...
        Danzig wasn't destroyed...
Cracow wasn't destroyed...
             o.k., half of Warsaw was,
but we know why that happened
(or at least i do... idealist students who
thought they could fight the enemy
with slingshots and air-pistols)...
why? the Germans were simply thinking:
oh... we'll just be moving back...
i once explained it to myself...
they weren't exactly some mythological
grand evil template...
so i started thinking about them as:
Hans von Seeckt...
  or Otto Hertz...
              or some other german random
soldier...
      well... you should travel to Ypres,
Belgium... and visit a German cemetary
from war world I... then visit
the allies graveyard...
       each soldier, individually buried...
with his pwetty pwetty weißkreuz -
mostly named...
                 now visit a german cemetary...
mass.... graves...
                they just dumped them,
heaped them...
                        to me they were people...
you can't exactly reason with a mythological
evil - an archeological evil,
   an archetypical evil...
          for an archetypical evil?
try the nuclear family...
                         ******... that sort of thing...
child abuse... too many actors
were involved in this story,
too many mistakes, too many naive blunders...
evil on this scale is easily diluted...
which is why it's taught as history,
in schools...
   no one will teach children about...
oh... say... the Wiener Blut scenario...
   Josef Fritzl...
                    i'm pretty sure this will not be
taught in a history class...
                or... the H. H. Holmes Hotel story...
but it might become a jack the ripper
tourist-fetish... might it not? well, it already is.

you know that time,
when you
drink... beer...
and you attain insight...
into paraphrasing
the void...
         and you're
not the bust-driver?
but you want
           to be a bus-driver...
how many times
am i to absolve,
cite a mea culpa mantra?
the world
needs someone to
"dumb-down"
their i.q.,
          to become,
less trained, less parrot...
i needed an outlet
to dumb my
i.q.,
           alcohol...
well... before you start
singing irish,
i think the scotch
will do just fine...
   with hands
that have a potential
to
crush...
                  a macaque
skull
   (given enough time,
and plenty of reserved
fiddly bits)...
i decided...
         jack never came
up... visit a *******...
and...
         like...
being involved in
experiecing...
   spreading butter
on toasted bred...
  what?
                  christianity
was already highly
invested
in metaphor ***
                imagery...
so i moved from
beneath the iron curtain...
and moved into...
disney (i wish)...
no, i've move into
some more itchy...
                   (e-ch-ee)...
   chatter...
peel....
           guess
the next word
ought to be, pérfect

gueß...
         a german... quasi-
pseudo-,
            it's not a diacritical
marker, it's a letter...
    in english
it implies an inclusive
interchange
of           S               and Z...
in english it also
implies                  SS: of guess...
for aesthetic reaons...

but then...
                    it's also Š
(caron)...
               a "hybrid"...

            a hiding of H in
S that amounts to SH...
or where the caron crown on
the S originates from... SZ...
learned a new noun:
                           grapheme...
       sharp...
                       shit...
                              šit.
  
curiosity of the pedantic
sort,

              i stopped
to make myself,
less focused on the geometry
of the "a priori" (the given)
and focus
on the "geometry"
of...
          is omicron
an "oh", O, or 0?
   doughnut-who-done-it?

we have moved beyond
a stage where...
polyglots are...
encouraged...
     entrenched bilinguals
are becoming the
intrinsic norm...
    
not: sized...
                  systamatic...
you can also taste
the tip of your tongue
experiencing
           a sanft: soft S...
    piquant pedantry...
it's not for someone to speak
"better" english...

i've been met with pedatry,
i reply: with pedantry...

   hush...
     could be written as
    huš...
                cheap...
could be written as
         čeap...
       ah...
  right...
         the aesthetic "question"...
hebrew missing vowels
"question"...
           you know...
i've never heard of dyslexia,
to be, evident,
outside of the anglophonic
world...
  but i'm pretty sure
  it exists in the francophonic
world...

   i'll agree...
  čeap = cheap,
           looks aesthetically
unppealing...
   as does chemistry...
  with a KAPPA in italics...

i didn't write sit...
i wrote šit...
             i almost pretend...
**** it, i always pretend
to teach a cat to roar...
like i might teach
           a lion to meow...

i'm entrenched...
you spend enough time
in set "segregation"...
you'll pick-up
nuances...
     basic tics...
                          misnomers...

what with christianity
beind over-laden
with metaphor...
      (ladden, or layden?)

     forget about me speaking...
l'ah d
          d'
               en

                                     layden...

well if people moved away
from being literate,
and literacy isn't a "thing"
and tuxedo
   is back in play,
    for the norm...

             layden or ladden,
i know it's laden...

                    imagine greek,
where letters are nouns,
and...
               there is no curiosity
regarding
          the syllable splinter,
or A, as in atom...
           hides both breath
and laughter,
subsequently ejects itself
to a status of pillar...
with a sigh...

                 giggle...
    where's the G for giggle
in sigh?
                hyper-literacy...
   i speak a word,
write "another"...
     and then pretend to...
   "laugh": lāφ
                            /             lāθ
                   laaf...

for me? literacy imploded...
       surd
                gnostic...
or gnome...
also a G...
             but the same G...
  prominent
                      in diagnostics...

never give a would-be
"blind-man"
access to the *******
alphabet...
   he just might
to squirm, itch,
squint...
              and pour out...
        idle observations!

    à...
              làden...
    not ladden...
               although with
a "missing" Y...
                       the Ęgliš language
isn't immune
   to...
              being
hijacked...
            graffiti...
                    it was gagging
for a reinterpretation...
              it was a blank canvas
of a Σ of 26 letters...
   what could possibly go wrong?

me? being denied access...
   to a phonetic-encoding
i was given a pass to,
use...
                    minding
the little revisions,
nuances...
                             and...
    let it reign free,
                                above me?
  never mind
the IN
     in either INN or
the INGLEESH
                               zunge:
**** me...
                         IN'GLE'H;

that's as bad as asking
the French to drop the hark
on the R...
       and return to trill;

forget the English...
tongue-numb...
tawantula R numb...
  can't trill,
      beside scootland...
get's the idea
of a momentum
of a circle...
and omicron...
      i guess...
that's the new variety
                 of twoll.

i went searching for God
while he waited at the starting line
i thought he left me
when i left him beind

You're my ghost-
Or that's always how I speak of you.
Telling tales of how you haunt me
Over and over
Night again sending agony through me
Something lingers still-
Pulling me though the places of my mind
Leave me be
Set me free
Yearning to find love
In something other than the void you left beind
So, I'll beg you this once more
Let my soul go
Just like you had no problem with doing to my body

looking at Sergei Skripa...
i know what you're thinking?
     where, the ****,
is the glam worthy manifesto
of t-rex?!
              has that little
man-pouch on him
like he's about to sell apples
at slavic bazar
selling apples!
what is spying outside
of politics?
       just tell the others how
the common man is doing
in the country of interest...
shaken, not shtirred?!
**** on me! ha ha!
             a family and all...
it's not like he was cracking
the enigma machine,
not autistic enough for
that sort of task,
   in the age of cold war II
and proxy wars...
         the u.s.a. has had its take
on proxy wars,
  korea, vietnman,
afghanistan and iraq,
the latter two both failures...
and to have seen the march
of authentic democracy in
the streets...
        holding up placards in
braille:
            some say it's even
scottish, and show-nee...
      shýsh-kee'báb'īsh...
     over-doing it? i know, nod nod...
yup yup... dog licking
it's own testicles...
            a ******* milkshake
worth of events...
      because the locals...
  never make spaghetti out
of the tongue they inherit,
        they inherit a tongue
that they never learn...
          no point inheriting
a language that disintegrates into
urban slang anyway...
    about to relearn, and enforce
red = red, quasi-red i.e. crimson
to take back from slang
the order of a sabbath peace...
i'm least bothered about
anything beind "gender fluid"...
whatever the hell that
means...
            grammar fluidity
is me banging my head against
the innumerable ciphers
in place to constitute an urban
environment...
                          of talking...
   up to a point, and then you just
can't keep up...
         the scary part comes in
the form of people in their early
30s and late 30s still adhering
to using urban ciphers...
           the point of urban ciphers
stems from the english
c.c.t.v. culture...
                   people use ciphers
to ensure that the deaf lip-reading
watchers can't pick-up
on what's being said...
believe me that i once talked to
a nurse on the tube, excusing myself
not keeping eye-contact with her
but rather looking at her lips
saying: sorry, but i can't hear
what you're saying, can i read your
mouth?
          she agreed.
             so we talked.
      the **** is spying then?
           from the looks of it,
me and my double-D 32 *****-****
worth of eyes
    looks back at country of origin...
no colonial past,
   wedged in between
germany and russia...
              the muslim scythe of
the moon will find it hard to
get past certain criteria...
                    i hope i'm wrong...
   unless i'm proven wrong...
and then i'm wrong...
but can you even imagine
    james bond with a wife and kids?
selling? selling what?
pineapple juice?!
                    until this obnoxious
me doesn't get the full picture,
this obnoxious me, never will...
            every time i drink i fancy
myself gambling, with a threshold
of irritable reaction to something
being inanimate...
              unable to perform
a telekinesis...
     reaching as far as far back
   as the 1960s american lectures
on zen...
                  not one i've heard,
        mentions the taoist school;
it always felt like an easy escape route
into the orient, mid-20th century,
to cling to a buddha...
                         who's apparently
the only one who "existed"...
            but no clear talk of tao...
    what an easy escape into oriental
philosophy:
  the whole - 'you don't exist' argument
only works among people,
with larage populations...
     what works in china,
can't work in america...
      even with 300+ million
the superficiality argument of
"an" existence countered with
the existence of, cannot be
countered effectively...
            given the numbers...
               take buddha
      to the faraoe islands
and let him recite his lesson there...
**** in the wind...
              this robbing of the living
organism its subjective impetus
that translates into objectivity
is: well... not a great cocktail
in the shadow of a crucifix...
                somewhere nearer would
seem twice as effective...
             you can't exactly demand
products made in china
with oriental philosophy...
                  thought in china:
applied in china...
                        because what's original
about applying: thought in china,
exported to europe?
                  the chinese, sure as ****
didn't export their ideas beyond
the great wall...
              and it's not like
the europeans even robbed them,
they just ***** themselves with
the ideas...
                              in the current year?
the only "white privilege"
is an attempt to get away with
plagiarism...
             ever since the nag hammadi
library emerged, unearthed
by an egyptian shepherd,
  the western world has folded
its hands into an akimbo pose...
            repeating the word: dunno.
i can't un-see the nag hammadi script,
and not see parallels breeding
in the current discourse within it...
     ha... and to think there's
the fantasy of a james bond,
    and the reality, of a car-boot sale
wanderer, and pencil pusher.

To the fully licenced driver driving beind me, the L plater, 

I understand you may have had a long day at work and can't wait to get home.

That maybe you have a thousand other places to be or things to do. 

That you kids may be arguing in the backseat.

But please understand this...

This driving thing is new to me and it's a little bit scary, 

The whole,  everyone's lives are in your hands thing, it's real.

Understand that this time of day is busy, which means more cars for me to watch and I'm not as good at multitasking as you. 

Know that I'm trying my best.

So when I'm going 45 in a 50 zone, please don't sit right behind me like I'm doing 10.

Please don't beep your horn and get impatient because I'm trying my best.

I'm not as used to driving as you and I'm sure we'll both get home quicker if I don't cause an accident.

Know that it's in your best interest that I'm going below the limit as well as mine.

So even though I hesitate and may cause a few minutes of delay for you.

Know that everyone had to do it and once you were a learner too.