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PK Wakefield Apr 2010
sun, light, murmurs
through slatted edifices
onto restless 4s

they shuffle tireless
ssssn uf fle
those 4s
ever do
on strawlittered floors

t
rapp
-ed
in woodly cages

a 2 enters
pets 4 1
whispers to 4 2
soothes their aches

2 astride 4 1
clumsy gallop

through golden portals
into ****** time
Georgette Baya Sep 2015
Bakit ikaw?

I like the way that you smile.
I like the way that you laugh.
I like the way that you talk.
I like the way that you walk.

I dont just like the idea of you, I love the idea of you.
I just like the way that you are.

Last week, nung magkatabi yung phone namin sa HQ.
May nagsabi sakin na, "relationship goals" DAW yung phone namin, kasi daw yung kanya, Duos tapos, saakin Ace.
Magkasunod daw na ni-release ng Samsung, kumbaga sa Apple parang iPhone 5s yung kanya, saakin iPhone 4s. Haaaays daming alam :p

Pano ba yan? Pang ilang araw at gabi ko na to, ikaw padin tumatakbo sa isip ko. I REALLY FEEL SO WEIRD.
Pag dumating din yung araw na pinaka aantay ko, hindi na kita pag aantayin. Wala akong pake kung sabihin nilang napaka bilis, i would really say, YES. Because, I can feel it. That there's something about you,
wala naman yun sa kung gaano ka katagal manligaw eh diba? Eto yung kung hanggang saan kayo aabot at gaano ka tagal.
Sige na, sasanayin ko nalang yung sarili ko. Ako nalang ulit mag aadjust. Sasanayin ko nalang yung sarili ko, na di ka kausap ng pangmatagalan. Pero, sana kumakain ka sa tamang oras at di ka nagpupuyat. Baka magkasakit ka sa pinaggagagawa mo nyan, di ko pa naman kakayanin pag di kita nakikita ng ilang araw. Kita mo naman every weekends, nag bbreakdown ako at laging puro emotional outburst kung hindi sa twitter, dito. Kasi sobrang miss na miss na talaga kita. Gusto kong mabasa mo to, pero wag muna ngayon. Nahihiya pa ko sayo. Alam mo minsan naiinis nga ko sa sarili ko eh kasi, mahiyain ka, tapos nahihiya ako.. Saan hahantong to? Ayoko ding dumadating tayo dun sa part na wala na tayong topic, kasi ayokong nabobored ka. Gusto ko pa naman na lagi kang nakangiti kahit malayo tayo sa isat isa at di tayo magkasama.








Goodnight, Jon Ray.
































































­




























I love you.
Liz May 2014
The silver
Birch trees flaunt
Their glitz as I 
Stroll through 
Deep pearl 
And sand
Pebbles

Gorgeous green
Mansions swirl
Around and
Blackbirds pick
Seeds from 
The posy bunches
And sparkled
Grass.

I pass a 
Pink butterfly house 
With large Daisy 
Heads protruding from
The diamond fencing.

The next house, a rather
Pretentious 'Cordillera',
Sounds like a disease.
A farm gate shields 
4 by 4s and I'm 
Now passing the weird
House with the crocodile
And gorilla and 
Coloured Cow 
And dog statues.

Coming to the
End of the lane
Of silver I pass
'Lane end'
Cottage with its viney
Stature and freshly 
Manicured front lawn. 
High cube hedges forming 
A pathway to the porch.

In The final 
Mansion if
Nosy passers
Have a peek you
Can see a 
Swimming pool,
Fluffy Towels draped over
The Silver pool chairs.

Flitting to 
The end of the 
Dappled birches,
Approaches
A wide country green
Covered in bunting
Bathed in buttercups.
Virginia Nicholson

How To Build A House In N-Dimensions

1. Begin with lines, pencil to paper (if they could exist) drawing graphite arrangements, N-space reduced to one, a structure viewed in slices. Imagine the bathroom off the foyer, the den off the dining room, viewable only as inked lines, dit-dit-dah, a contractor’s Morse Code.

2. Progress to carpet squares, linoleum tiles, the coral paint pairs well with the eggshell trim.  Dit-dah-dit becomes something useful to the non-contractor, “door” or “Master Bedroom” or “x hundred feet of pipe.” Envision the imagined patterns hidden in the bathroom floor, the kitchen hardwood.

3. Move to volumes, solids, conic sections, height. One story, two stories, a basement, an attic?, take advantage of the introduction of 3D. Upgrade the closet to walk-in, needs more carpet squares. A snapshot of a family barbeque, Charlie’s height 1D penciled in to the 3D door, marring 2D eggshell paint.

4. Adding time, the house is built, ages, gets sold to new families with little Charlies of their own, new markings on the cupboard door, 3-foot-2, 3-foot-5, 4-foot-9. Grass fades from Kelly to sand to Kelly, saturation a cosine function with respect to time. The Zoysia starts in one, breaking ground in two, growing in three, a well-manicured 4D experience.

5-11.    Include the things invisible to us, objects on the order of 1 meter, orders of 10E-2 to 10E9 seconds. Five to eleven drip through leaky pipes, seep through porous flooring, get lost in iron-rich soil and oxygenated exhalations. Five to eleven stay hidden, wrapped up in Calabi-Yao manifolds smaller than graphite hills and valleys marking little Charlie’s height, stronger than the 2-by-4s and stone foundation keeping strong in 4D. Five to eleven circulate undetected, seven dimensions shrunk to sub-pinpoint size, keeping seven dimensions of unexplainables covered until their traces are seen in the blades of Zoysia.
Mike Bergeron Nov 2011
This act
Just keeps
Wearing me out
Like I’m an evening
Dress and
Each day is a
Different dinner
So I guess I’ll
Keep watching
My patience
Grow thinner
Along with your
Waist.

It’s a short walk,
But still I dread
The trek
Each time
I make it
I expect
I’ll keep following
These same tracks
Until my feet
Wear away
And the tips
Of my tibias
Are concrete
Splinters,
But I don’t mind
Finding out
How many winters
This doubt can last,
It’s all a game,
Just catch and pass
You’re thrown
A bone

Or driven past
As you wave your thumb
Under the overpass
Trying to get home
For the birth of your child
At Woman and Infants
But RIPTA has ******
Service, so you might
Miss it,
But that’s ok,
We all miss things
We never had
And we all wish
To never be sad
But the reality is
Reality’s a fad,
A passing craze
Of the human brain
That hasn’t evolved
To see past the rain
And realize that it
Isn’t falling
Every time we get wet,
The future is calling
But we will always forget
To pick up the phone,
Cuz we’d rather forfeit
Nirvana to sit alone
Playing with an app
That makes a cartoon cat
Play the trombone,

Technology can lead us
Out of the realm of the blind
If only we could find
A way to slow
Our swift decline
Into the self assigned
Ceasing
Of
Creativity
And
Assanine
Overabundance
Of avoidable
Stupidity.
Iphone 4s.
Cop that ****.
Yeah in Texas we love to swang
Switch through the lanes
While smokin' on Mary jane
It don't matter what ya claim
We spit flames sittin' on 84
Twistin' round and round
And you can hear the bassing sounds
Thumpin' keep the streets jumpin'
Much love to the originator
I'm talkin' the ***** creator
Earl Davis a legend so don't be second guessin'
Or you'll be gettin' a blessin'
Surprise from my Smith n Wesson
Sittin on Vogues 15s or 14s
Gold over chrome in chrono order
My appeal is so real
So ya know all haters feel
Jealousy and envy but it don't bend me
I just chill and let the wind breeze take me
Into another zone I'm game smooth *** baritone
Gets me a bunch girls to bone
Intellects sang
rollin'hard chirpin' on them thangs

Bound to be a sunny day
In that sunshine state
Texas breakin' crates cuz our music rake
From the streets to the jail cells
Makin' revenue with the crew
Black & Hebrew
No time for evil I moved pass that level
These devils wanna see me fall
But will Still continue to ball
Til I'm over the top chillin' in a million dollar loft
Breakin' off proper treat my guns
Like a visa
I'll never leave my chopper at home
Pushin' more domes than the astros
Wrapped around ya mind like a lasso
Live everyday Like my last though
Just a hustler spittin over instrumentals
Rhymes verbal where's the punisher?
Foes soon to be a victims
From tyna still thangs
Still servin' up on them thangs
C S Cizek Feb 2015
Third floor psych ward window lookout,
second from the right on the east side.
Best seat available, padded, from 1934.
Backrest Swingline-stapled to the faux-
Maple leg support 2 x 4s. Beige bedspread,
white walls blend into the door threshold
that people are honeymoon'd
through kicking the aids, clawing at their eyes.

But Téa sat there watching the overcast
shadows sweep the sky heavily
like the watercolor paintings on the group
room plastic table where ******-off
preteens paint Dad beating them,
or Sis dying in a car crash.

Téa just sat there while the stagnant Valley
tumbled dry low outside, tuning out
a black patient behind her riling-up
another fight with a plastic-hinged
particleboard door.

Swinging.
Martin Narrod Feb 2016
in the penguins luck the furnace begins
at reprograming the news. Picture frames on 2 x 4s , three
photographs and glass bottles in the most decadent of matrimonies.
Three-hundred million dollars.
And the race riots show 'em who'll take the dampit from the mound of
Soot stained elements, canvas, trash bags, electric guitar riffs, giraffes, bingo, the drip-drop on the drop cloth. Easing into the new processor.

She who settles the wages of crickets with ether and single-barrel vanilla buckshot and maple. Incisors and cynical stereotypecastes and the shadows of the other mugged and loose canonical charades the worser and worsening play their ad keywords at in the sketchmakers many movements her dactyls fine and her fingertips many. Sweet lines of breathing and setting.
Aaron LaLux Feb 2020
So far gone,
leaving behind spent jet fuel & jeweled remnants of memories,
on a plane in the 3rd dimension sitting 1st class,
with a world class American Top Model chilling next to me,

gazing out the soft edged rectangular window to my left,
then over to the soft edged Coke bottle model to my right,
which is better I’m confused as to which view I should choose,
both views are cool highly prized self-realized & undefinable,

on a roll so after we change countries to change the weather,
we change clothes to match the country we’re adaptable,
not conditioned to air conditioners we prefer air that’s natural,
our connects are reliable, specs are viable, facts are verifiable,

always well equipped even though we pack light when traveling, must face facts ‘cause we’re verified & the truth’s undeniable,

so we choose to accept this life without a fight,
what film’s on the inflight entertainment tonight,
100s of options to select from hope I choose right,
I pick a good flick to watch with this chic as I wet my appetite,

dinner served soon what’s on the menu this time,
King Salmon arugula salad champagne & cloth napkins,
think we’ll eat & see a film starring one of my best friends,
he’s one of the leads in the film playing one of the X-Men,

my future has passed, been gone since way back when,
I went from hustling on pavements & cuddling in basements,
to my name on gracious invitations to amazing celebrations,
& obtaining the latest coveted creations of our generation,
placement upgraded I now lay in a place that is spacious,

on the top floor of a proper loft with views of the harbor,
not a golfer I don’t golf I find sports outrageous,
no jokes I’m sinking ***** in 3 strokes on Par-4s,
making cut shots not taking gut shots from Haters,

no mugshots the hate must stop success is an art form,
I work around the clock so I deserve this spacious hiatus,
hitting Top Flights with wise guys on Trump’s golf course,
hole in one I’m a Golden Son like Nick Cannon’s kid is,

terms of endearment rules of engagement **** with honor,
tears shed in statements still sad but thank God we made it,

out of the streets & into the seats of private choppers,

we’re done with the stress thanks to blessed chess moves,
we get offered so many options that it’s tough to choose,
flying through the friendly skies First Class,
as beautiful Goddesses like Venus & powerful Gods like Zeus,

we just hold on to sworn untolds & let everything else go,
until our wills give up our bodies fold & we’re cremated,
only thing that hasn’t changed since we’ve made it,
is the bond of our word so you’ll never hear convos restated,

we keep secrets that will never to be repeated ,
we run a tight ship no loose lips or leaks we keep our word,
just saying no statements just lots of amens & payments,
we’ll neither confirm nor deny those rumors that you heard,

most great men make no statements or engage slow agents,
they just make moves & arrangements in Asia like Statesmen,

we go off like the Mossad,
got those that **** caught off guard in a fictitious fog,
so lost they even begin to question our very existence,
no eyewitness our plots are so efficient they can’t see the ball,

suspicious citizens fishin’ for sufficient evidence,
dragging nets coming up empty they get nothing at all,
reporters on a mission to get headlines for the Sunday edition,
but I’ve seen things believe me they don’t want to get involved,

all star star crossed lovers,
all scars dressed in cross colors,
on Heaven’s Cloud 9 hovering in a helicopter,
surfing my brainwaves on a Rusty board as thoughts hover,

he’ll adopt her,
if she’s mean as the streets are still somehow nice & proper,
a marvelous heart stopper, with a solid heart beat bopper,
but if she acts up he won’t hesitate in a heart beat to drop her,
because the mean streets will always be his first lover,

so sick with the business he might need a doctor,
so far gone one what weighs him down isn’t worth the bother,
so far gone on a level so far beyond him that he’s honored,
with the type of resolve that gets all problems solved,
& a secret sauce along with a special recipe that conquers,

upwards & onwards,
a walking palindrome pantomime,
walking backwards I act out words,
& any friend of freedom is a friend of mine that’s a given,
I see the future live in the moment then kick back afterwards,

on a plane in the 3rd dimension sitting 1st class,
with a world class American Top Model chilling next to me,
rolling feeling high expressing these blessings in total bliss,
naturally high no cigarettes no alcohol no ******* no ecstasy,
finally “Free at last, free at last, Thank God almighty!”,

we are free at last celebrating like Martin Luther King,
Living the Dream in the fast lane spending Johnny Cash,
in the Fast Lane don’t plan to plane crash so I fly carefully,

Walking The Line,

I’m,
doing fine,
so far gone,

I’m,
a bottom of the 9th,
down by one runner on Home Run,

I’m,
outta here,
en route to a beach,
outta of range & outta reach,
a place where the photogs can’t peek,
not hiding just finding a place we can shine like diamonds,
an island with vibes like the water,
clean crystal clear & stylish,
where we can fully relax,
at ease without fear,
together,
here,

20/20 vision,
so my decisions like my vision are always crystal clear,
crystal clean missiles scream through the star lit night sky,
with a Starlet don’t startle us or confuse our caution as fear,

don’t mistake kindness for weakness & try to take advantage,
or it’ll be “Nice try nice guy, you lose dude maybe next time.”,
no good guys just bad boys living the Good Life,
bad boys with good hearts Tom cruising through Vanilla Sky,

in the air experiencing experiences on the fly,
only spent jet fuel & remnants of memories left behind,
have everything ahead of me, just had to get lost to find,
truth is everything I ever said, all good things in all good time,

see, I’m so far gone, my sweat smells like sweet success,
living my best life, an American Dream in the flesh,
School of Hard Knocks did all my homework took no recess,
now it’s all recess allow me the luxury to reminisce & digress,

if you know how to read between the lines,
then there’s no need for a Reader’s Digest,

if you really what to know I let wealth get to know me,
I don’t work for the money the money works for me,
money doesn’t make the man man makes the money,
if you really want to get things done gotta do it on your lonely,

& when you finally get an opportunity to taste The Good Life,
don’t waste it savor it gently & take it slowly,
enjoy it while you can when you get the chance,
before it’s gone like I am on to the next one & only,

close The Book chapter’s finished on to Destiny’s next story,
done with this dissertation on all The Good Life’s temptations,
where seduction done through Life’s luxuries was my specialty,
had my fun now it’s on to the next one, next destination,

leave this life behind & let my actions & words speak for me,
which is why I leave behind these words as my literary legacy,
see truthfully I’m already so far gone,
leaving behind spent jet fuel & jeweled remnants of memories,

on a plane in the 3rd dimension sitting 1st class,
with a world class American Top Model chilling next to me,
full throttle on time like Movado, all shine no bravado,
I swim in more waves than the Royal Navy,

“living la vida loca” no Ricky Martin, my life & my love’s crazy,
gazing lazily out the soft edged window to the left of me,

then over to the soft edged coke bottle model to my right,
if every man’s an island I’m an archipelago & the architect,
Living Artifact, Futuristic Apostle Fossil, Prophetic Autograph,
I collect art & checks such a crazy life I need my head checked,

fossil fuels burn on strong, along with my memories,
so long I’m gone have been for centuries, so far gone,
so when they mention the greats, guaranteed they mention me, remembered in words & songs so the lessons can carry on,

so gone leaving behind only jet fuel & remnants of memories,
because just like now when the end comes I’ll also be gone,
only came here in the first place because they sent for me,
so when I go I will wish you well with a “So long & carry on!”.

So far gone,

on a one way flight with no carry ons,
leaving behind spent jet fuel & jeweled remnants of memories,
on a plane in the 3rd dimension sitting 1st class,
with a world class American Top Model chilling next to me...

Δ LaLux Δ

IG: @adreamerinthematrix
From The HH Trilogy Volume 3: Dark Lights & Bright Shadows; by Aaron LaLux
zebra Apr 2017
she became sexually excited
by the thought of being eaten
like a piece of spit roasted chicken
slow cooked
fall off the bone
melt in your mouth
**** food

as she reflected back
she could not remember a time
when she did not harbor
this venomous ache
wanting wanting wanting
what she should not want

she obsessed
some times she dare cut herself
admiring the split tissue
first thin white peaks
the emergent sticky red plush
then the little red river Nile
just a taste
better not eat to much
teeheehee

one summer evening
sitting alone
in a crowded pub
sharing a table with a strange couple
not from around here.
definitely not
may be from outer space

girl became fixated on
their presence

their intensity pierced
like a needle through a banana

both of them lean & tall
almost architectural
like black rod iron gates en-castleations
hair combed straight back jet black
like licorice

the woman wore a tight small bun
immaculate
ornate rings with enshrined family crest
manicured like Malibu real estate
both dressed to ****

girl was drawn to them
they emitted a sense of terror
thrilling her, making her sweat
they looked good enough to eat her

she felt her **** dampen
as they all peered at each other
the man, the woman
siting before her
like Medusa's
with shape shift mouths
and eyes that kiss your soul
till it bleeds
making girl feel like lamb chops
with a side of pom fritz
perhaps a glass of merlot

the woman mused at her
with eyes like black Cole
touched her hand and said
so veautiful

girl found herself in a plain house dress
******-less, bare foot
her toes had been lovingly painted
black with with rich clear lacquer
with no memory of her arrival

woman saunters in
buoyant like a pink float
******* clad

her countenance
like white seamless marble
her eye socket darkened
like pouting dark rose ****
walked to girl
kiss her mouth
then again and again
each time longer deeper sweeter
like a swarm of licking bees
i am yellow daffodils girl thought

man enters like grand swinging doors
to a great cathedral
licks kisses girls mouth
so tender
he tasted of dark butter ***
a hint of worm perhaps
touching her *******
her ******* growing attentive
**** wet wet wet
like low hanging summer fruit

man says we are not human
we are

dragool
undead
loogaroo
dampir
soucoyant


may we please eat you my love
we like for food and the darkest ***
we treasure every morsel
your blood gives us strength
your viscera a prized dark stew
your death brings us optimism
your sacrifice sustains us
we eat you with tears of blood
because we love you
and your body is our holy sacrament
you are our Christ

girl says
you are my destiny
my beloveds
come show me your love
feast on me
take me slow with kisses, black mamba tongue and razor teeth
i do not run from you my darlings

girl disrobed
centered herself on the table
spreads her self wide
like a contortionist
knees held to her chest
toes pointed
feet arched

the man and the woman
on all 4s
hovered like hyenas
first with kisses
womans *** curved like a pearl
her ******* longish as if
stretched silk
with foreboding dark plum aureoles

the mans ****
arterial contoured like a tear drop
a creeping snake with dark appetites
a dispenser of paralytic toxin and MDA
a **** thats poisons and exults
some where between love and death

each of them beautiful
girl thought ooooooowwww

there where long periods of kissing at first
then wet tongues insinuating themselves
in dark rose ****
pink primrose *****
mouths feeding mouths feeding mouths
foot adorations and then teeth and little bites
and mumblings about the grace of Satan
and uncrossing themselves
and thunderous goetic rituals
for fear that god would take their girl away
their lovely food
there sweet bleeding lover
their robe of blood
and starve them
they wept tears of gratitude
as they licked and tore flesh

the pain of their bites excited girl
oh it hurt so
braking her soul
as they ate her sweetbreads

girl
pushed passed limits
pushed past limitlessness
despicable delirious delicious
her **** inflamed

girl thought in fractured clouds
and heaping *******
before fading in to dark water labyrinths


finally she thought
i am lamb chops
with aside of pom fritz
perhaps a glass of merlot

but most of all i am girl
feeding those i love

her very last words
come my darklings
finish me now
clean your plates
drink your wine
and remember

eat up
there are children starving in Africa
My mind is my prison
I count to four
Everyday all day
Don't ask me why its four
Or why I count
You feel my fingers counting 1 2 3 4
I have to kiss you 4 times before I go
I have my routine of 1 2 3 4s
I replay conversions in my head 4 times 4 times
One it haunt me in my sleep
Two it haunts me all day
Three it takes me
Four it drives me crazy
Amethyst Fyre Oct 2016
When you see people walking with their phone seemingly attached to their hand,
it's because it is

I got my iPhone 4S in 6th grade
my twin lost hers three times before we entered high school, but I-
i took care of mine

I had the option to upgrade
to abandon and trade in
but i didn't want to
my iPhone 4s fit into my hand
small, like me

Last May, I was reaching into the car
to grab my sister's backpack
to be helpful, of all things

But I extended the wrong hand
and in a graceful dancer's leap, my phone arced away from me
and crashed face-down on the dark gravel drive

I picked it up
stared down at the spirograph of cracks
I clicked the home button
and by some miracle, the screen threw brightness back at me

It's held together by tape now, peeling ***** tape
it has times where it panics, glitches and melts down
'let me go' i think it's telling me

people always ask with awe, 'how can this thing still work?'
i keep telling them i'll get a new one soon, the newest version of all maybe!
but some part of me just doesn't want to give up hope

Cracks and light, broken and functioning

can't you see? i wonder
My phone is a reflection of me
dilshé Dec 2022
444
coincidence?
synchronicity?
or
correspondence
of the soul?
triple 4s
catch my sight,
everywhere I go.
providence?
abundance?
alignment
of dimensions?
444              4,4,4
             4
4:44      4
              4
perhaps
delusion ,
happenstance..
or
divine
intervention.
thoughts ?
Ana Habib Jun 2015
I have no idea how I came into this world

I have no family or a place I can call home

But I know there are many more like me

Traveling in 2s 3s and 4s

Its been hard since day one

I stay with everyone and anyone who can afford me

I stay with them, through their times of need

Stress, Break-up Divorce and even Death

I have to endure his clumsy and groping touch

without a being told twice

During the middle of the night or in the dead of winter

For days months and perhaps even years

While he uses me til his 5 minutes of satisfaction are up

And when he is done

He will throw me to the curb, where I will lay naked and spent


Who am I ?
Brown hair, some highlights.
Pale skin, slightly tanned, many imperfections
Blue eyes.

Black glasses.

Pink, thick lips
Usually smiling
But sometimes frowning

Short
Not even 5'0
Slightly curvy

Tank top
Black
Scull leggings

Small feet
4s in woman's
Or 4.5

I can't remember.

Boots.
Grey or brown
But it's usually boots.

Is this me?
All I will ever be?
No.

But you get it.
Elioinai Jan 2019
Oh Bleeding Heart
up on a shelf
You always tug on mine
So rough around the edges
but without withholding any thought
You paint the surest picture of humanity
Watching you becomes like being pierced
with rainbow needles
It seems the Way you sing your life
You can’t open your mouth without spitting blood
You have your teeth and need no knife
I wish I was inspired to write for you a balm
But no such calm intrudes
Type 4s incite each other
Fire feeding off of Fire
fighting for a stage
at once against and together
Randy Johnson Nov 2018
I have a sad story that requires music that's played by a fiddle.
I've been wounded and I'm spending Black Friday at the hospital.
Gamestop announced that they were knocking 80 percent off of Playstation 4s.
Less than one hour later, paramedics wheeled me through the hospital doors.
I tried to grab a PS4 from a woman, I thought because she was a woman, she wouldn't put up a fight.
But she stabbed, clawed, poked and she even decided to bite.
I really wanted that Playstation 4 because of how little it cost.
But when that woman was through, a lot of my blood was lost.
I'm at the hospital on Black Friday and it's a real shame.
Why did I want that PS4, I don't even like video games.
zumee Jan 2021
do yous and mes
come in 2s or 3s

do 3s and 4s
come from mine and yours
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2022
yesterday's cycling session broke me, perhaps not so much
the cycling as having cycled to the former village of
Wennington: oh **** me... this is sad...
it's not like wild fires on the news in California or
in Spain or Greece... this is right on my doorstep -
well... i felt pity: not guilt... i don't own a car...
                      it's pointless owning a car in London...
the public transport network is just too good
and owning a car is too expensive...
        plus i can go anywhere on a bicycle... i can skip
traffic... i: don't have to pay insurance...
i don't have to pay road tax... i don't have to pay
for an m.o.t. and i don't have to worry about breaking
down... just flat tyres from time to time:
and the odd crash... touch wood...
i only had one... but it was all my fault... i was drunk
and lost control of the bicycle while trying to avoid
a pothole...
               but it was still a great experience... falling
over the handlebars must have looked something
of a Francis Bacon painting... smudges of movement...
a black eye... a massive wound on the forehead
and on the cheek... a skid bruise on the forearm
and a massive bruise on the right leg with a mount
of an incision: a garden of lavender and plus around
it of dead blood...
                          spectacular, absolutely spectacular:
crashing like that on a bicycle...
   at work there's this girl: Harini - the law student...
the one who kept on nagging me
about how there are too many white judges...
   too many white judges... in England? or was she talking
about barristers? either way... i tell her:
as long as a system of meritocracy is in place...
then what has race got to do with it?
   equity, right? the equality of opportunity not
the equality of outcome, no?
a variation of natural selection - the most naturally
gifted at X ought to do X...
anyway she once rode those electric scooters...
but fell off... and she never went back on riding it...
*****... literally... how do these people live any life
worth contentment?
          would i give up my passion for cycling
just because of one crash?
                                    fat chance... sure...
the first time after the crash i was shaky...
                                     shaky ******* Stevens...
at one point a pain came back to all the areas mentioned:
and a headache too...
then again... as the saying goes...
drunks have the GPS implants of birds...
        and they also fall like sacks of potatoes,
meaning: they hardly break anything...
two examples...
1) the GPS of drunks...
                 i unexpectedly booked a flight to Athens...
don't ask... i was having one of those psychotic episodes...
which is sort of like a panic attack
   but a psychotic attack is a panic attack
     in reverse... you crave adrenaline to suppress it...
and unlike a panic attack which is localised on the spot
and in the moment... a psychotic attacks takes you places
and can last for days as you build up more
and more adrenaline from doing something very
unfamiliar... i flew to Athens... i spent the night
crying in Hyde Park (what the **** am i doing?
i don't know what i am doing) - then went to Gatwick
Airport in the morning... took a shower in the airport
bought new clothes in fat-face and ****** off...
  arrived in Athens... found a ****** hostel in the worst
part of Athens: one Diogenes of Sinope after another...
(bums, homeless philosophers)...
opened that bottle of absinthe and sat down on
the street... i remember... with my left hand i covered
my eyes and with my right hand i was pointing
at something... and laughing my socks off...
magpie-type cackling... maybe it was the absinthe
or maybe i was seeing something:
proud Greek with their expensive-pension
economies... ha...
            ****... what year must it have been?
     i was supposed to be working on the Olympic village
for the 2012 Olympics.... i'm guessing 2010 or 2011...
just before the Greek financial crisis emerged on
the global scale of being known about...

second day? i go into this market square and sit in a cafe
and start chatting to strangers...
turns out i'm going to join them in going to a *******...
mind you: i'm still in psychotic mode...
this could go either way... bad for me... or bad for them...
if they're lying, that is...
            complete strangers... just met them...
hmm... when in Greece you never really know if you're
talking to someone who's Greek...
some are pale in complexion while others look like
Syrians, Arabs... then again: this was my first time in
Greece so i shouldn't have expected to know what
the average Greek looks like: complexion and all...

so we get into the car... just outside the Parliament
and we drive acres and acres out of the city centre...
it must have been at least 30 minutes...
i had drank some of my absinthe prior: left over from
the night... we enter the *******...
oh man... my first time... i've been to brothels before...
strip clubs... a strange aura...
                  completely different... more teasing...
drinks... yep... immediately a girl walks up to me
and places a green plastic circle next to my glass...
what's this? well: now i do know: "green light"...
   for a private dance / something more...
    at least i knew that i was broke... i was broke...
i had about £30 in my bank account (funny... now i have
an emergency £3000)
                   but i'm like: i'm sort of enjoying the
show that's already costing me £5 a drink...
but she sticks around, we start chatting...
   then another older stripper gets involved...
blah blah this blah blah that...
                 i catch the eye of a third: the look she gave?
i will remember for the rest of my life...
it was not a scornful look, nor angry...
i was already burying my face in the older strippers
chest with her giggling: two on my arms
and a third looking on...
                   one of the guys that came in me kept
nagging me for money for drinks:
i said i have none...
until it hit me... i reached point £0...
            my card was denied...
                               credit card? me? me and a credit card
only met once... once upon a time...
when i was a kid and had my bank account set up...
credit cards are so ******* annoying: at least
that's what i found...
         you pay for something...
  and then... wait for a month to get the bill...
sure... credit in the form of a mortgage i can understand...
it's just credit cards i don't understand...
i only work with debit...
      i spend what i have rather than have what
i shouldn't have spent money on...
so anyway... this bouncer escorts me to the nearest
cash machine...
    as i tell him: to get some cash out...
i get the ******* escort and all (i said that already,
i know) to a hotel... he ***** off to talk to the concierge
while i fiddle a bit at the cash machine...
then... i start ******* myself...
          ah... the sort of "sobering" ******...
i look where the bouncer is and... leg it...
literally speedy Gonzales it out of there... or did i just
sneak out? memory: fuzzy... perfect when it
comes to a-b-s-o-l-u-t-e truths like 2 + 2 and spelling
but memory from experience? fuzzy... fiddly...
anyway... first time in Athens... no map...
nothing... zilch... i don't know how i managed
to get back to the hostel with the already disgraceful
fact that i ****** myself...
     i was thinking: oh... ****... this bouncer is going
to bring me into an alley and beat the **** out of me:
wrong... working on a debit system means you
can't overstep the mark... i didn't own anyone
in the ******* any money: i was bad-money free...
but that's the point a drunk has a GPS like birds
have when migrating...
                    that's why i won't stop drinking...
it's too good for my brain... and the liver i can box
around with... but how the hell did i manage
to find my way back to the hostel when the car trip
was like 30 minutes long... we must have been doing
(on average) around 40 km/h that's 20km (circa)...
in the end i stayed one more night in Athens...
no... i didn't visit the Acropolis... i had it in plain sight...
i liked the fact that it remained on the hill
and i was down below: some things are best kept
forbidden... but i did manage to write some poetry
in the hostel...
    i then emailed my uncle and asked him for enough
money for a bus ticket... from Athens... via coach
to Katowice... through Macedonia, Serbia...
  Hungary... Czech Republic...
           and then to my grandparent's house...
where: finally the psychotic attack was soothed
by reading a book or two and talking with my grandfather...


2) drunks fall like sacks of potatoes...
my godmother had this anecdote... she was sitting
on the balcony of her flat... she heard
a whizz of air and a thump on the ground...
apparently one drunk was locked out of his house
by his wife... he tried to get in through the balcony
having climbed the roof and descending
from the 10th floor to the 7th... well: when there's
an "oops" like that... he fell... 7 floors...
what's that? 30 metres?
                he fell like a sack of potatoes...
like that Salman Rushdie opening where Satan
is falling head first and careless... while Gabriel
is falling trying to invent wings flapping and crazy...
probably feet first trying to be: SUPER-CAT...
catch a rhythm of the flapping hope to land on all 4s?
it gets me every time i replay that memory in my head...
the way she dropped the punch-line:
i like my godmother... i don't see her frequently /
not at all... but she's a heavy drinker too...
intelligence... it burdens the mind sometimes...
we need to slow down...
she's a doctor i'm a poo-et...
                        anyway... so she hears this whizz in the air
and a thumb... the ****** landed
   about 10cm from a metal pike... in some bushes...
7 ******* floors... he gets up and utters the words
'o kurva' (i.e. oh ****)... and walks off...
that's a bit like me and my cycling "accident"...
a guy got out of his car and ran up to me
bandaged my head while i was figuring out
why my hands were red (from touching my forehead):
two old women screaming...
i was asked if they should call the ambulance...
gladly they mistook my drunk-state for a state-of-shock...
i was like: no no.... but thank you...
i walked off... came home and took the best
medical advice available: self-prescribed (of course)
i.e. sleep...

i sometimes wonder why i'm not your stereotypical drunk...
i drink to hyper-focus on something...
i never get angry... well... i get angry at things:
because they're so ignoble... then again:
defining what a "thing" is hard when dealing
with a well-crafted table or a chair...
i don't actually know how to define "things"...
even "nothing" is a "thing"...
            the supposed "nothing" is a gateway to antimatter...
i suppose the closest "thing" to a THING
is what's an abstraction in the distance...
something you pass at speed that you: don't necessarily
ignore but don't take a concentrated account of:
you don't focus on it... ah! i know the best
example of what a "thing" is...
esp. in a gallery... looking at a painting hanging
on a wall... that's perfect... the wall is a THING...
because you're actually looking at a painting...
mind you... i appreciate all the classical paintings
of the Renaissance... but... you can't see any brush-strokes...
i like paintings where brush strokes are
visible: it's painting then: it's not geometry riddling...
painting by way of insinuating the idiosyncracy
of the hand by leaving several if not dozens of "accents"...
that's why i compared my cycling crash
to Francis Bacon's paintings...
                         well, sure: because the theme of the macabre
also helps... as did his ****-erotica...
and the drinking...
thank **** i'm not a loser drunk that needs
to drink to pronounce some averse trait of masculinity...

better for me being this loved up fool
with a GPS of birds migrating in my head
and a body that behaves like a sack of potatoes
when any harm should come to its bones...
i fall like a cube... a sack of potatoes...
anyway...
         can i imagine living a life that...
like this coworker suggested: oh no, no no...
one fall... i'm not getting back on the electric scooter...
*****...
          then again: cycling is my passion:
i hate runners... those arithmetic arthritis wonders
of the world: jelly-knees i call them:
if you're going to run! run on grass!
and mind you: if the "mob" should ever come for me...
they better not be driving cars...
cars make no sense in London...
too expensive...

                        now... the pivot... i have an 8am appointment
with my hairdresser tomorrow...
i needed to start drinking early so i could write
this and go to bed by 12am...
i'm coming to the ****** and i don't want
to come to the ******...
  the heat-wave is over... i can finally breathe...
ah... i think that's how you write...
or begin writing...
                all those very important people
and all their very important "autobiographies":
let's face it... ghost-written while still alive...
   i guess biographies make more sense...
i think fame, in the truest sense is a testimony
of post-mortem...
    i don't believe in fame in one's own lifetime...
i think fame is something akin to
what's most temporal: what can be passed on...
what employs being passed on for so long
that the name most associated with...
for example...

who invented Champagne? Dom Perignon...
ha ha... back in Poland we were taught
the French song:
frèe jacques:
        
frère Jacques
frère Jacques
dormez vous?
dormez vous?
sonnez les matines
sonnez les matines
ding ding ****
ding ding ****

                 it's a burning memory... like watching
Cartoon Network... when it was... good...
i don't believe in a fame of the living...
the dead are proper dealers in this concept...
fame... how people strive for fame...
whether through good or through ill done against
others... because fame doesn't escape
the muddling of good & evil...
the fame and the infamy...

i was broken yesterday... i know how much i ****
off women's football but i still ended up watching
England play... who did they play?
never mind... they won...
i was going to watch the Sweden vs. Belgium match...
but i thought... if i had a hairdresser appointment
at 8am tomorrow... i need to be asleep by 12am...
go get up at 7am and shower and blah blah...
then i have to go to the Turk to get my beard
and moustache trimmed...
but i'm still not watching football...
i'm watching Tom-Boys with long socks
and hair dangling pretend something...
sure... there's some green of a football pitch...
but i'm not watching the football...
weird... when i watch female athletics or female
tennis i'm watching athletics and tennis...
   for whatever my opinions i have:
i'll watch... what the hell...
at least it's more interesting than some ******
Hollywood movie based on a comic...
or an overtly existential meditation that came
too many years too late: since we covered the outpouring
of Bergman...

now...

    there's the thief... the burglar and the opportunist....
there's this Slavic motto:
znaleziony nie skradziony...
found not stolen...
i operate this maxim...
when it comes to money...
i have found a £20 banknote on the street one...
i have £10 banknotes once or twice...
i've found pounds... i've also found pennies...
would i be stupid enough to find such devaluating /
evaluating / re-evaluating "things"
(money, that's another "thing" in my gallery
of "things" that i can't place... justly...
Nietzsche was attempting to write
his magnum opus: the trans-valuation
of values before going south of cuckoos...
money is one "thing": am actual "thing" is another...
i find a £20 banknote? i'm keeping it...
found / lost ergo not stolen...
the principle of luck...
i could have spared the man the agony of
crafting ideas about a simple answer to his question
about trans-valuation... money! no ditto!)

i've been a thief before... i managed to steal a compact
disk record from a shop...
Queens of the Stone Age's song for the deaf...
i was sly... but this was different...
i was tired from cycling... i bought a bottle of whiskey
and a bottle of Lukozade... berry: ******* merry...
at the self-service outlet... ooh... what's this?
someone left the newest version of
either a Samsung or an Apple smartphone...
is it at 10.3 or whatever the hell it is at?
lucky me... i need a new phone...
so i grabbed it... it was just lying there...
packed my rucksack...

well... i didn't steal it! it was just lying there!
but i don't need a new smartphone...
i just don't want the one i own to **** up on me...
i honestly don't remember the last time i topped up...
i have £0.75 on my account and i'm still using it...
each peddling started to weigh down on me:
if it was money i wouldn't have cared...
if i found money: like i sometimes found money
i wouldn't give two fivers-worth-of-***** for
anyone who lost them: the idea behind money
is that it's transactional...
they taught us the wrong lessons in school,
e.g.: what would you do if you found a briefcase
of money on a street? was it bribery money?
was it ransom money? it's ******* money...
might as well be leaves of a tree come autumn...
money? i'm ******* keeping it..
no morals... no: no nien niet nie!

but here i am with this... £1000+ smartphone...
i ****** it... start cycling home....
i get this numbing headache without an ache...
i remember the time a former "fwend" of mine went to court over
a stolen phone...
how i helped him but he didn't help himself
therefore didn't help me...
what prompted me?
the phone started ringing...
  
who was calling? "mommy"...
hell... if it read "mom" i'd be like... *******... ******...
so much for your spontaneous lapse into
pretend Alzheimer's... imitation amnesia...
but the calling card: "mommy" got to me...
i actually don't want a new phone...
i don't actually need a new phone...
i just need the one i have to work...
mind you... money never talks:
money always listens...
i have no scrupules over money:
                      money lies on the streets all the time:
sure... most of the time they're pennies...
but sometimes... if you're humble to pick but one...
lottery-luck... you might find a pound...
or a tenner... or a twenty...
but... "mummy" is calling...
i was like: if it read: "mum"... i'd be like... lazy ***...
leaving his / her phone on the self-service station...
my gain... your loss...
"mummy"... "mommy" kept ringing...
i was already at the end of Oakland Avenue
trying to figure out how to turn off the phone
and get the SIM card out so i wouldn't be tracked...

i don't need this... however much i was tempted...
i was tempted...
but then the dawn of something akin to reason
came to the lightness of my mind...
better i return this find...
it's not gold...
and "mommy" is calling... so... it wasn't an idiot
that just left this £1000+ item in a supermarket...
as the sayings go:

myśl dobrze mów dobrze rób dobrze (a) będzie dobrze..
on Oaklands Avenue i had that "moment":
after seeing the person calling me on a found /
not a stolen phone... "mummy" is calling me...
if it simply read as "mum"... i'd be like:
well, too bad... Alzheimer prone:
spontaneous memory idiot...
this phone is mine...
          i didn't steal it: i just found it... but then something
kicked in... a headache without a headache...

I'M NOT GOING TO DO THE FOLLOWING
BECAUSE IT'S RIGHT... some absolute GOOD vs. EVIL...
i'm going to do this because i want to FEEL...
goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood...
like glue mixed up with goo...
because that's the focus of reality...
Abel's revenge...
on the vegetarian: moral-posturing Cain...

i can't put a kid through this... the parents will probably
grill... it turns out she was 7 years old...
her for losing her phone / a mini-computer
on a self-service counter in a supermarket...

i had second thoughts: i like second thoughts...
thought that read: not because it's RIGHT...
something selfish... animating the ancient strives...
i want to feel good...
like the mantra already stated:

myśl dobrze mów dobrze rób dobrze (a) będzie dobrze...
(think good speak good do good and
maybe all will turn out good)

as i was turning the lost property in... i already received
several phone-calls from "mommy" / "mummy"...
i think that stealing this phone would have felt
much more thrilling than simply finding it...

so me and this police-officer start talking...
found this phone... yeah... 10 minutes ago...
where is the phone / where is the "mummy"? she's on
her way...
           any details? so she can say thank you?
you think i got a thank you?
i received no thank you... oh: glory to the inhibited
nature of man concerning what's good in this world...
i didn't want to be thanked: thankfully i wasn't thanked...
i could have easily ****** off with the phone:
insurance probably paid for such circumstanes...

but this is why Cain slaughtered Abel...
people are naive... i'm thinkiing:
the gods were probably just as naive: if not more...
i think the gods were naive:
me? i just tested being exceptional...
but if it was money? oh: like ****...
no chance... money is money...
money is both stone, both tree,
both a heart-transplant...
i find money... i'm keeping it...
                i have no morality concerning money...
but when a...
what sort of parent... gives authority of ownership...
of something worth over £1000 to a prepubescent
girl?! and expects not to "forget" once in a while?
is that authority and worthiness building works?
you need, strangers, to ask themselves moral
questions!
          i didn't have to ask the said moral questions:
i could have profited outright from
this scenario!

        but i asked them: regardless!
because? i wanted to feel good rather than feel lucky:
lucky on the basis of "theft"...

it's highly uneconomic to mix fizzy drinks with whiskey
coming from a plastic bottle than coming from
a can...
better, better still?
leave the already opened bottle of pepsi in
the sun... and each time you unscrew it...
after filling up... shake the bottle up...
to keep the fizziness in it...

i wish i were more evil that my inherent ontology
disavows me from being...
then again... burp... ****... 30 minutes down the lines...
i do visit strip clubs and brothels...
so... i'm sort of like...
                i'm already what's best reserved
and at the same time: what's best kept hidden...
what's to be explored:
by those not willing to explore to begin with.
I can see ya pretty face going to hell all bails no jails
Salt the snails tryna gain yeyo it never  fails still in the pale
Moonlight  dancing with the devils ripping my rebels levels
Above you I shove you down crews snooze the *****
You choose who's killing scenes everytime I puff green
Signals more green I'm speaking money fools kills avenues
Kirkland flat fill like Capone gats see the chills pat congrats
Now you gotta steal casket laying on your back axe a crack
Grand Canyon flows entice the three o 4s ***** holes at the show
Front row ya know how it go big name big game no shame
Keep my loot tamed like my women up in the hall of fame
Meaner than the **** names Sweetz old school treat
Twenties lingo I'm talking street slicker than mr Pete


To each enemies who eats there's a bullet to great defeat
Sunk ya fleet no ships to sail black moses sipping holy grail
Thoughts growing carousel check the smell money scent scales
Way past space smoke a paper chase waste a black face
See a razor chafe it ain't safe playing with amazing grace
Prayers turned into fire from a higher Messiah Elijah
Acts no deaths is felt above the earth's belt leave welts
On ya grind times is mine rhymes so I did the crime lime
Lights being shown from mics I blown words of play shown
From my nina who lay more thugs than bone not a clone
Walk the crossroads alone make a big caller's switch tones
Somebody call em home jesus waiting for the final tome
Ya times up welcome to the land of corrupt where's there no abrupt
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
Bewildering diversity
Lookin' for the bridges
What dreams may come
Sailing distant shores

I read City of Ember
Long live Doon and Lina
Egress in the morning
4s and 44s

Difficult day today
Help me not catastrophize
Get a little sleep
When it rains it pours

Not much winter this year
Beauty blue tonight
The porch has two green lights
Very faithfully yours,

                        Todd
Qualyxian Quest Nov 2022
Americans like their privacy
And their abortions
And their guns
And their imperial wars

I like Baltimore
And Dublin
And Moby ****
And Thai ******

She's not here
She left
She bangs
On all 4s

Exoplanets
Extrasolar water
Astrobiology
Foreign shores

        137
Qualyxian Quest Apr 2021
Once i was 3s and 4s
Now more 8s and 9s

Sick very often
But she called my poem fine

When she was 17
Just about blew my mind

I need her healing now
Tenderness and kind

        human touch
             touched
              Divine
Nellie 55 Oct 2020
No love so I chose to drink. I'm atleast getting wasted with plenty of time to think. Steep choices hit me fast. Cigarette ashes fly in the air. I'm having drinks and I don't care.
"Nel why the **** do you write so much?!"
I write **** down because sometimes life's to tough.
I'm here, slamming some beer. Homies by me about to be a decent year. We all have cheers.
I've got 4 by 4s and I a bury social anxiety six foot deep. 6 foot away or 6 below our feet. Not even a disk because yall so cheap.
Nellie 55 Oct 2020
I ain't trying to compete. But you want to get your *** beat. Maybe you shouldn't talk **** now you don't speak. Bet you're ******* weak.
Don't try to test me kid. Hearing you talk makes me sick. Sick of the games but I can still slay. Start something you can't finish will out you in debt but I know you can't pay
Last time I checked you came to me for help. Then you ghost me like I'm nothing. How funny, how silly. Now I'm ready to throw hands don't need no homies.

I've got 4 by 4s ready to treat you like you do to your ******. Six feet deep, decay below my feet. You won't even have a wake. I'm a be  at your funeral paying my disrespects. You and your poor choice of reality checks.

— The End —