The sun's not setting yet
but it's thinking about it
and the squirrel is chattering
and the people are walking
up and down the street
the girls in their skimpy shorts
and the boys in their saggy shorts
the wind blows the pages of the book
and I shiver just a bit
until I soak up the sun
again at 6 PM

Just say the word
And I will give you an army
Of reasons
Why hating myself
Has always come so naturally

I hate that I don't have a gag reflex
Because I **** at calorie counting
And throwing up seems
So much the easier option

I feel like a stranger
In my own home
Because I live life believing
That I am the reason
One of our family members
Has gone from the world

I hate and fear that my father
Would not be proud
Of who I have become
And the thought scares me
More than any abysmal nightmare

I could go on
But I doubt
You would want to hear
What horrors unfold
In my mind
And all
My 6pm secrets

12mn: I was babaw. I made a "funny" joke. You didn't laugh. Usual. I made a funner joke. And this time, you laughed.

1am: I changed our chat emoji to a nose. You realized you were turning 17 in 23 hours. I asked you what you learned from this year, and you said "I hate people", and I wished you didn't hate me.

2am: I was asking you what picture I should tweet for your birthday. Why didn't we get a picture last night. You're laughing at me for wearing the huge *** NASA shirt you gave me. (Thank you a bunch for that.)

3am: I asked you how the Mcdo was. You said "good". My tummy grumbled.

4am: You asked me if I was up and honestly I wasn't – you just woke me up. But conversations at this hour are the best so why not? You sent me some songs. And my groggy self listened to them half asleep. You said 20 hours til you turn 17.

5am: Kuya Soy just left. I am sad. You said jmsn at this hour is great – and he is. You're now gonna try to sleep (**** it, just when I was awake). I asked you what time you were born so I could greet you on that time. But **** it was at 7 am, still, I set my alarm. Goodnight and goodbye, for the mean time.

6am: I write because you exist. Woah that dramatic effect though (just kidding). But really, I am awake, writing my greeting for you. I fell asleep with my notes open.

10am: I was still asleep, you messaged me in reply to "I write because you exist", you said same.

12nn: I just woke up and I just saw your message.

1pm: I followed you with my 2016 account. You followed me back.

2pm: You sent me a hugot quote about walking away or trying harder. I think I'm going for the try harder option. You never know how close you actually are to your goal, right? You said you're turning 17 in less than 12 hours.

3pm: Easy to talk to, hard to understand.

4pm: I learned that your mom's name is Nilda. Hi Tita pls like me half jk. Actually not jk.

5pm: You told me everyone was making 365 accounts. Actually, it's 366.

6pm: I told you I was sad about kinder eggs having genders. "idk lol ugh HAHAHA"

7pm: I asked you if you were okay, you said yes. (And I wished that you'd never lie to me whenever I ask if you're okay)

8pm: Some ungrateful btch be tweeting about not wanting to get food for Christmas. You say "BRUH FOOD IS ONE OF THE GOOD GIFTS MY *****", I laughed.

9pm: You made me listen to Jidenna (aheheh ahas) and I'm reminded of your great music taste.

11pm: You told me your family was fighting. This is your "worst christmas". I want so desperately to do anything to make you feel better, and I am trying to help you.

12mn: Still trying. I wanna hug you to absorb all your sadness.

7am is:
'good morning :)'
'have you had your breakfast?'
'i'm heading to school first'

11am is:
'right now i'm pretty broke'
'but do you want a smoke'

2pm is:
'what do you mean how?'
'having lunch with friends now'

6pm is:
'having a meeting now! talk to you later'
'have you taken dinner?'

10pm is:
'on my way home gonna eat supper'
'let's play dota together'

2am is:
'i know you're already asleep'
'talk to you in a bit'
'goodnight and sweet dreams :) (the ones which wouldn't cause weight gain)'

I arrive at the barbers
for my weekly, my usual,
and you are there,

sitting in my seat
crying. I lift you up,
cape and all,

take you round the
corner, where you tell
me you are sorry

but we have to go to
Brighton now, even
though it is 6pm on

a Friday and we won’t
be done until 2pm
tomorrow. Is it a ruse?

I think so, because
suddenly we are in a
part of London that

looks like Montmartre
(or it could be Richmond
masquerading as Venice)

and we meet a man
called Tricks who says
he’s the new chief now

because he knows the
location of all the bones.
And then there are

scanners at airports,
walk-in health centres,
families in North Carolina

with names like Kayleigh
and Shauna. And when
we are done meeting

them we are back, you
in the chair, glowing blue
under barbicide lights.

People always say
"Music keeps me sane."
But I don't get the random urge to kick those rocks when my phone is dead getting off the bus at 6pm,
The cry to selfharm is not only called through my mind
but when I'm listening to the screaming of friendly monsters
I run to the blade quicker.
Music keeps me insane.

She didn’t want to turn out like her mother and her grandmother. She didn’t want to be a housewife/mother living with an abusive boyfriend. She wanted a better life, not just for herself but for her young son.
She dreaded each day at 6pm, when HE was due home from his day working as a Taxi Driver.
If his dinner wasn’t ready on the table as he walked through the door each night, she knew what was going to happen. She also knew what would happen if she didn’t dress herself up, make up and all. Everything had to be in its correct place, including her.

It was 7pm. HE still wasn’t home. She knew where he would be…

It got to 9pm and she knew HE was now home, as she could hear him trying to open the front door with his keys. She listened to him struggling for a while, enjoying his disorientation.

HE started shouting through the door at her, the abuse would begin for another time…

She got up and opened the front door.  HE started lunging towards her.  She managed to move out of his way right at the last moment, before he slumped to the floor in a semi conscious state, which he regularly got in.
As she stood there staring at HIM, her young son snapped her out of the trance. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs crying. She knew what she had to do, like most nights. She took him up to bed and settled him.
After settling her son into bed, she walked back down the stairs.  This was when HE started the abuse again. HE had managed to get himself up from the floor onto the sofa.
He started yelling the usual verbal abuse she gets from HIM everyday. He was demanding his dinner. She put his dinner in the microwave and tried explaining to him that it was ready at 6pm, like he requested.  There was no reasoning with him in his intoxicated state.
This was when the physical abuse started. He started kicking and punching her. She just lay there. She had realised after so many beatings from this vile vile man that it was easier to lie there like a rag doll.
As he stood there looking at her he felt more anger rising up inside. Something in him snapped. That’s when he grabbed hold of her throat and started to throttle her, until she lost consciousness.

Later that evening when she came around, she found HIM lying in a pool of blood on the floor, next to her.
She was slightly disorientated for the first few minutes. Until she realised that HE was not moving. She checked him for a pulse, but he was dead.
After a while she managed to pull herself together and realised that her son was in the house. She ran up to his bedroom to find him crying uncontrollably and shaking with fear.

WHO KILLED THE ABUSIVE MAN?

WAS IT THE GIRLFRIEND OR THE SON?

This is chapter one; your opinions  are a blessing?!



As Obliteration Comes...

What is there to think of a man who goes, so far, out of his way in the destruction of the woman who loves him; Years beyond the assault she could not, would not speak about… a woman, … within her devastation tries to dissociate and desperately tries to make it… not be?!  Of this day…, she tells no-one; … only those there knew, they were there in the aftermath and saw. There at the place she’s works and holds a different name;  a place where she could not report  to police…, not without turning her world inside out, a destruction which becomes impossible to avoid?! Considering such a thing leaves behind evidence of its unspoken crime. Unknowing all … He hates her for acts of duplicity; as if she’d want any other than he, who owns her heart?!
The day
I know Denise’s men; for the most-part, their ******* Freaks! I’d never normally go near any of them?! But, this man had pleasant eyes; I knew Denise was going to be in before I leave… so I sat with him.
He tells me he and Denise know each-other through my other Agent, Lisa; I worked with more than one agent, AI-Talent and Top Entertainers Talent Agency all for my NY, Conn. and NJ gigs. I had Lisa for all gigs at after-hours and for those long-distance clubs.    
(Lisa’s the agent which was going to give me up to the Rode Island police, when we were all on the way home from a four week gig we did in Boston’s Pussycat’s Lounge. An unforgettable time to say the least ;)

Kal walks over around 3:30 and whispers “Denise is a no-show tonight could you stay until her replacement gets here?”

What, as-if I would say no?
It was one extra set and I would be out of here at 5pm!
” No problem! But, I need to be out of here by five?!”

“Janice, cool! Callie lives on the other end of the Market; she said she’ll cab it down!” Kal looks relieved.

  But as it goes with Denise’s friend; he was, to say the least, miffed!
“Denise told me to be here! Why…? If she wasn’t going…”  
I tell him, “If Denise told you to be here? She’ll stop by later or she’ll send someone in to get you! Right?”
He orders me another drink; he stews about where Denise could be…; Meanwhile, Denise’s replacement is nowhere to be found?!
It’s now 6pm?!
“There’s no-way, no way in hell, I’ll make it out to Rockaway’s by 8pm!” thinking to myself …, ‘I can’t be late?! I’ve never been late!’
“This is not my day!?”
Denise’s friend turns to me and says,” I’ll drop you down at the train; Hell, I’m going down to midtown; the hell with waiting for Denise! So, if you can use a ride down to the city?”
As he says this Callie flies through the door.

As you know; I’m an *******!  I was totally elated thinking of the possibility about being out there with Joe by 9- 9:30! ‘He’s saying he can get me down to the A train and from there… One straight run! Oh, Baby!’
What a ******* *******; I’d never… I wasn’t thinking.

“That’s so nice of you; thank you!” Stupidly, “You have no idea; Let me go in the back and get my stuff!”
I never before..; “You can’t know how much this helps me out! Thank you! “      

   I tell Kal he’s was giving me the ride.  Kal smiles, “Thanks man! She’s a good girl… take care of her! “
  
He takes my bags to carry them outside for me; It was so bright outside. After a seven hour long day of being inside drinking with that pounding music and those pulsating lights; the outdoors seem so foreign?! I look to see where his car was parked?
He laughs saying, “I put it in the lot across the street! Willey’s lot was full when I got here.”

Still thanking him for driving me downtown while crossing over Hunts Point Avenue; we reach his car he opens his back door to place my bags on the seat… fumbling the bags one of them falls to the ground. I remember hearing his laughter as I bent over to get my bag; all the bags were flying towards me!? Before, I could… I …   the back of my head hit the edge of the door… my bags were on top of me … and all the weight? I try but couldn’t make a sound! I was in the back of his car. All my bags moving, cutting into me and him pressing down; …clawing, pawing all over! My bags cutting into my skin; His arm pressing against my chest!  I heard, “Don’t… **** … Die!”   I couldn’t feel… Breathe? And; Snap! …Blackness.    
Then, I remember… falling!? I was…. a body empty nothing-more as it’s pushed out the door and hits gravel! Bags slam hard onto…, all of what remains left of it.  
There’s sound of an engine? There’s shower of gravel? Car-horns are heard blaring in the distance; still breathing.  
I’m not sure how…??? I pick stuff off the ground. My mind’s numb, thinking all I could… I need home to clean this… I’ll make it gone??? I’ll make it… not have happened!’
I took a cab from *****’s; All the way from the South Bronx! I still don’t remember that time to my home; I only remember getting out of the second cab, The Rockaway’s Play-land; I remember watching for the A-train to go by… thinking; ‘I’ll tell Joe I took the train out. He’ll never know… he can’t?! He told me not to go; he told me to be out here with him to meet his friend. This is my fault.’ The head’s not… Hide, it didn’t happen just forget the last twenty-four hours?! I turn the corner and walk down the block towards the bungalow; he was there.
‘He’ll leave you; it’s your fault you went to work; he told you not to go… No, nothing happened?! He loves me? I love him!!! Nothing happened!’
When he saw me? He didn’t even ask anything about my not having all my bags? I always carry my three extra large duffels and a pocketbook?
I walk in the yard with only money in my pants and not even one bag?
If I were here straight from work and had left the club when I suppose to off I’d been here no later than 8pm?
I show up ten moments to four in the morning, without bags and he doesn’t say a thing about it; not even a single word about this long-sleeve shirt covering my cuts and bruises?
He smiles; he tells me his friend’s still sleeping but when he wakes-up we’ll all go to breakfast. His friend comes out and we sat and talked for a few moments. Joe hadn’t notice but his friend asks me if I was alright: I said, “Yeah hadn’t eaten all day; Joe says we’re going out for food. His friend took his car and Joe and I met him there. The whole time sitting there in the Crossbay Diner with his friend I kept thinking;
‘If Joe and I were with each other it would be as if nothing happened? It will be it never happen?! That’s what I need to do!? I’ll be fine. Everything… fine.’
  After breakfast his friend got into his car and left;
Joe says he needs to head home to get some rest later-on he’s taking his mom, Rose, out to her other son’s house.
And, he says he’ll come for me once he drops her off… and we’ll go to the place underneath the Throgs-neck bridge  
How hard it was…
Joe parks and takes out his jug of ***** and grapefruit then begins talking? He’s talking???
As if there wasn’t …?  Like nothing happened… nothing??? He was simply sitting there saying something about Vincent and Helga???
“They’re going to drive mom home!”
He’s smiles? Saying, “They’ll take mom home from their house so we can stay here as long as we want!”
Every time he tries reaching for that jug or reaches out to put his hands on me…; I’d jump!?   I felt my skin crawling; there was a bubbling sensation all over in every last place that was touched; I felt my skin as if it going to burst out with blisters of poison! I needed to get home!? I need to wash this..!? I need not to have his hands touch… This thing I was???
‘He touches me, so help me God, I’ll open this car and run and throw myself into that water! I was shaking, I was sitting on the arm-rest of the door and I began yelling!? “Take Me Home! “
“You son of a …!  Can‘t you see; Can‘t you see!”
“I need home! I don‘t feel well!? “
“You, *******!  Get me home!”
No Clue. Still, He’s clueless to any difference??? He yells back at me, “What’s your problem?  You on the rag or something?”
He drove me home.  I open the door before he could try to park and I run inside; I locked myself into the bathroom. By time I was out the sun was up!

The phone begins ringing.  It’s Kelli Ann, “Sometime last night my grandma, Rose, died. “
I dropped the phone. My sister got on… with Kelli.
I just stood there numb; thinking how…
‘Dear God! Joe and I were at the bridge!  
If I told him what happened he would have been with her.”
He would have left me; But, He would have been with Rose?

Rose was the most amazing person to me; I adore her, I denied her… and I stopped him from being with her.
‘I didn’t want to lose him; I couldn’t see losing me again?!
And, I made it so he wasn’t there… for her.’
All the times he’s walked away from me, so many times; He’d say nothing and show up at the house with some girl.
And introduce her to the family; that was his way telling me just how important I was… That was his way of telling me he didn’t want me. And, I would stand there… act as if it wasn’t a big deal… ‘It must be nice… no feelings?’
But then after a while he would come back; It be like none of them knew a thing?! Yeah, not even what I did for a living?! When asked, what I did for a living, I’d tell them; I work as a Entertainment Manager for bars throughout the Tri-State area; Yeah right; I was entertaining and I did Manage… (I manage to get to and from my gigs and I was entertainment!) So, it’s not complete truth or lie. And, HELL, Joe can’t think too poorly of what I do; after-all it was his idea?!

It’s only three days before his birthday and here’s Joe having to make the arrangements for Rose’s ( his mother’s) wake; He turns to me and says,” My mom had these spills often before..; But, she’d always come back to me! I’d hold her hand and I’d call to her!  I wish I had been out by Vincent’s. She maybe…. Maybe she’d still be here with us.”
I felt… numb.
That night we were all at the wake;
I hover in doorways watching every person go in than back out again. I kept looking at Joe; I didn’t know why, but my mind, I wish it was him in that **** box. Isn’t that sick!  As much as I love Rose I’d wish her son could trade places??? How that would have been unbearable for Rose and yet…
The biggest reason Joe and I kept our being together a secret was her; She was by no means the only… not by a long-shot!  But, she was a most important reason. I could have never dealt with even a thought of her hating me for loving her son; I fear… loss; now, she’s gone. I love her; I want her back! I want her to know; I want to tell her! She never knew… he’s her grandchild? She’ll never know now.  Here knowing…, seeing everyone around feeling this loss for Rose; because of me… she might have still been here…? Only if…?
Thoughts, ‘My life is imploding; it’s all moving in slow motion. I don’t know how far… I don’t know if… I’ll survive this… this time? ’ I cling to straws; I can’t lose Joe; I can’t make my sister leave home? She’ll never make it on her own; I can’t tell Joe what happened? Then he’ll know all of this, everything, is my fault?!  I stopped him from being with Rose when she needed him most.
What if he’s to ask about little Joe…? With the way he feels about my sister? I never gave him an opportunity to ask out-right if he’s his before; it wasn’t me who told him. When I let him know I was having a baby I told him,” You could be the godfather?! He agreed to that… He didn’t ask, he didn’t want to know; and I couldn’t ever take the chance… Not then, not now; He’ll take my child away; He’ll take him and leave me?! I’ll have nothing I’ll be…?!
Say nothing; …perform as you go; Stay in survival mode!

The day of the burial:  We went to church and everybody goes up to the front. I didn’t know where to sit? None of the family told me where…?  Then, Kay Young, a neighbor and friend of my mother’s pulls me over and says to sit in the last row near her; so that’s what I did. Afterwards, when we were all outside someone told me to get into a car; a car which turns-out to be Lynne’s car!? Lynne and Kelli together were the ones who made it that Joe found out about the baby.
Thoughts, ‘… imploding; It’s all moving slowly… don’t know how far… or if I’ll survive, All this … this time? ’

After my son was born Lynne was the one who told Joey that others are saying little Joe was his… Joe wouldn’t ask me if he was the father and I was more than glad not to tell him! Yes, I know it’s extremely selfish; but I couldn’t risk losing another one. But, if I did I would have turned Joe’s life upside down for nothing.    
(My Joe was a preemie; barely six months along when he was born. My tiny baby boy needed to stay in a hospital from June 6 until Aug. 31st.. )  
It was June;  
We, a whole crew of us, were out at Rockaway‘s;
Kelli Ann and Lynne were making drinks and I had maybe five big drinks in those 20 oz. cups. To say I was blotto is beyond an understatement!

The two of them get going; they were told and they know that my baby was Joe’s; And, I have to tell him!

“I don’t know what you girls are talking… You’re wrong! Leave it alone!”  
“Everyone knows how you feel about him!?”
“What? Leave this alone! You don’t know what you’re talking…”  
“You’re going to have to tell him….?”
“Leave this alone; this is none of you business and you haven’t any idea of what you’re talking about!”  
“If you don’t tell him I will!”
“I’m telling the two of you to leave the man alone!”
“Well, he needs; he has a right to know!”  
I got up and say, “Apparently, I do need to talk to him about something? Don’t I?!

I turn to go find Joey! I need to talk to him about what Lynne and Kelli are saying to me…??? There, in mid-turn, I slap in face into his chest; Joe’s standing there hearing every word of what was being said.
He yells at me; saying, ”What… This is ******-up!”
I start crying; I run towards the beach! Thinking, How am I going to tell him? How can I say I couldn’t tell you, I could trust you! How do you say to the man you love that you left him to believe he wasn’t… because having this baby means more than he does; And, if he knew he was the father when he was told about the baby he would have just been another person, in this life, trying to stop this baby from being born. I lost too many; He’s mine! No-one’s taking him from me. Not even his father.  How do you say this…  
I went up to the bench on the boardwalk; I would always sit in that same spot; I was crying.  
Joe comes up behind me;
He says,” What are you going to do now? **** yourself!?”

I didn’t try looking at him; I just spoke holding my tears, ” No…, You’re not worth that!”
A long time passes as the two of us stare out at the surf.
He said,” So…?”

Painfully, I remind him his words he told me, at Christmas time, when we first…;
“Joe, do you remember, what you said to me? The very first time I told you how much I love you? Do you remember?  Joe, you told me, “Don’t!”  
Then you told me, “You’re just for now?! No attachments! Remember?”    

Joey turns and goes back to the bungalow; He gathered up his stuff, takes Lynne and leaves. He wouldn’t speak to me again until mid-October after, I got little Joe back after my mother and my grandfather kidnapped him.
When I got my baby back his stomach… There was something wrong? Every time I try to give him his milk it wasn’t staying down in his tiny body?!
I was so frightened; I saw Rose outside the house and I ran-up to her for help; she goes downstairs with the baby and gets out baby cereal she mixed it with the baby-milk?
“Rose? The doctors told me I’m not to give the baby anything but the baby-milk?”
  
Rose said, “Don’t worry; I’ve seen this before… Don’t you get scared?”

She force-fed Joey some of mix and in moments the baby threw-up every drop of what Rose gave him; she cleans him up and shoves the bottle of plain baby-milk into his mouth; He was drinking it on his own!
She tells me the baby’s stomach was shut-down. She says, “Sometimes baby’s go through this failure to thrive when there’s too much turmoil around them. But, this little guy here is alright now.” She hands him to me and says, “Now, He has his Mama.”
Joe came down stairs from his room he must have heard the yelp I made as the baby threw-up the cereal-mixture.
Rose saved the baby’s life that day, her grandbaby.
And, now, I’m sitting in this *****’s Lynne’s car; I’m going to say goodbye to dearest woman I ever knew… ‘I wish it was me going into that hole.
Later, we all went to eat out at a place on the Blvd and then the family came back home. We stayed up late and Joe’s brother from Florida with his wife and their two kids went upstairs. They bunked-down in Rose’s living room and Joe and I were down the basement in the kitchen. We finish cleaning the dishes and he tells me to come with him to his room;
“They will sleep ‘til three; Both, Butchy and Sandy have been drinking since seven this morning.”
I went with him; I felt so numb. I belong to him; I love him. I just need to let this happen then everything will be the way it’s…I am his.

I kept saying, “My Love, I belong to you! I need you! I love you! Joe, you are everything to me!  You are my life! My head kept whispering” You didn’t stop it; you allowed another to take what belongs to Joe.
You are nothing.
I kept repeating to Joe, “I belong to you Always, I’m yours.” I kept saying the words over and over to him; I didn’t want to stop telling him, I am his…
When he fell asleep and I was sure he was asleep; I got up and slipped out of his room. Sandy caught me leaving his room; I saw her and I stood there like a deer in headlights!
Sandy just asked, “Is he still up in there?”
I said, “No.” and, I went fast out the door and ran home.
I need to check on my sister and my son; I didn’t want Joe’s brother or any of the rest of the family getting any notions. Running into Sandy as I left Joe’s room scared the hell out of me! But, she was … Sandy didn’t remember seeing me. She says she doesn’t remember anything after she ate dinner down-stairs.
That was the last time him and me…              
Joe was pretty busy while the out-of-towners’ were stopping by and with all the paperwork needed to be done…  I just hung-out with Kelli; I figure, when he’s not too busy he’ll talk to me.
It was a few weeks after that night; Joe comes up stairs where Kelli and I were; he asked Kelli to leave us alone.

He handed me all the papers he was holding for me and told me,” Don’t you ever talk to me again! You are a nothing; do you hear me? A nobody! You’re a worthless ***** and I don’t want to ever have to look at you again!”
Then, he went down and locked the door, hard.  
Kelli Ann comes back in and asks why he’s acting like that towards me; I told her, I don’t know?  And, I didn‘t?! I didn’t until nearly two months later when I went to the doctors; then, I knew.
I have gone back to work; But, I will never go back up to *****’s!
I met-up with Denise a few days after I went back to work; we were both at the Golden Dollar; she was just leaving as I’m walking in…  She slaps $350.into my hand saying, “Thanks for taking care of my friend! Gotta’run!” She’s out the door before I could tell her what happen to me wasn’t, by any means, by chose.
Time passes; it’s now, nearing my birthday; I’m hearing about how Joe’s spending his time with Lynne; So, I decide I to write a letter to Kelli. I could stop kelli from mistreating Joe, for what wasn’t ever Joe’s choice in the first place, and I can stop Joe from being convinced into taken my child away from me by that *****, Lynne.
Joe wants to be with that… that’s his business; she thinks the two them will take my child? Not that *****!  That ***** won’t ever get to put her hands on my child! After what she did on June 4th and 28th and so many other times… With his wanting to be with her it makes it a whole lot easier for me to feel a deep disgust towards him. Joe thought me to be such a no-body; he thinks me so cheap… He left me months ago unaware… in pain and he thinking I would want…
  Fine, two birds’ one stone?!   I don’t want her mistreating him for our not being together… It’s not his fault I went to work; but if he’s going to try at any point to come and take little Joe away?! I can’t let that to ever happen!
I wrote Kelli a letter saying his in no way my child’s father and for her to stop mistreating him like he had done something wrong his mother has died and you are being nasty to him. I can’t be friends with you anymore I have too much in my life I need to take care of my son and my sister and I told her I hope the best for her in her life. I wrote… using six pages of words but this is the full gist of it.
I thought if some day things are different and he and I find our way back to one another again; Kelli would have a chance to confront me in front of him about the letter and I’d be able to ask Joe for a signed a waiver of parental rights and then I could ask him to have a DNA test done. But for now, my son will remain where he belongs…with me.

How it is that all this started; why must this be...

I.
I have fallen in love with
the mid-June evening skies, and
It's volatile shades of grey
Like a temperamental canvas of inky blacks
And blotted blues, lines of translucent paint drizzle down
From the canopy of clouds, marred and bruised.

II.
Lovers separated by atmospheres and seasons,
A torrent of raindrops ravishes
It's earthen companion,
caressing the jagged scars across it's parched skin.
I have fallen in love with
The heady scent that permeates the humid air;
The love-child of storm and soil
Infused by the sweet, rich aromas
Of a 6pm cup of chai.

III.
I have fallen in love with
The rivulets of rainwater that
Trail silver maps across the ridges and contours of bottle green fronds;
And the dewy droplets that adorn the Gulmohars and Cassias that are strewn beside my bare feet;
Like a bejewelled carpet of scarlet and gold.

IV.
We are words
Ricocheting off one another,
Relief, catharsis and a safe space after a long day.
We are the comfortable silences, the content sighs,
And the barefaced truth
Between mother and daughter.
I have fallen in love with
The tapestry of words that we weave.

V.

I have fallen in love with
Coming home.

i was trying to figure out
the meaning of life
when it hit me like your fingers
in the twang of the earth’s guitar:
one day i will be
sitting, alone, in the sweltering dust
of the crossroads, with the reed-
blow of the wind, the blood
of the grass,
the bang of the silent
hitchhiker looking for a
way to carry his swallowed whiskey
and then i’ll know.
i’ll know.

Gimme a rhyme
To pass my time

Gimme a dollar
Tighten my collar

Keep me in line
Revoke what is mine

No, I'm not doing fine
I walk a thin line

The judgement is there
I can't escape your stare...

The pages absorb what I think
My thoughts seem bleaker in ink

i see things in high definition colour, but
july is the only month that fluctuates—
between florida orange and, later, burnt sienna;
everything between the 1st to the 31st
is dipped in a honey-glaze of three things:
1. warm, sticky air
2. the feeling of 6pm
3. bicycles riding through fields of fireflies.

naturally, i spend most of july in my bedroom—
the heat gets to me, makes my allergies flare
and i watch movies; old, 80s, movies (or—tiktok clips
of the same movie, only broken up into thirty-six parts
that i view from my bed with my naked legs spinning vertical circles through the air).

i always forget the feeling of august
until it’s there again. july
overshadows it with the final embers, so i only realise
it's august on maybe the 5th or 6th. almost
a full week into a month that my brain—
which is never wrong about the way things feel—
sees a deep, ocean blue.

i don't write home about august. i don't hurry it up
through winter months, when i begin the countdown
to hot, hazy days. if anything, i view august
as the ending of something, of a summer i wished so hard for.

and every time, it blindsides me with love.

i love things more in august. i love the smell of summer-
rain on the pavement. i love songs i listened to in january.
i love waiting around for halloween. i love my bedroom,
the pause of heat-sick sleep, the blue-sky mornings.

i write love letters to autumn in a time capsule. i text july and ask u up?, and wyd?, and come over?

and still, when summer ends, i will never want to get what i wish for.

you know what’s really haunting about pictures like this:
    (see profile picture)
i only found out about the paris massacre
at 6pm.
so this whole mental illness debacle...
i guess i’ll have to fake it, improvise,
all the great ones did it to push people away
for some peace and quiet...
i’m seeing... i’m seeing the equivalent of
the 100 years war with islamic barbarism...
there simply isn’t a mein kampf orientation of:
what comes next?
the only thing that comes next is panic...
why didn’t they shout THIS IS FOR IRAQ!
why suddenly involve: ah crap, i knew it,
the re-emergence of poland on the map
ensure the post-colonial nations get the ***** treatment,
i was subjugated to prussian, russian and austro-hungarian
authority for some time, what the ****?!
the french / english / spanish trinity of colonialism
is not my 5pm cup of tea... **** it... let’s tango anyway...
let’s tango with hail marias in england
and magdalenes in corfu or ibiza...
yes... i’ve lost touch with reality... your definition of reality...
but at least i am the one who’s immersed...
you’re still stuck to the slavish realism of paying taxes and
kissing the bonnet of a sports car / boiler -
i’ve lost touch with your definition of reality...
mind the 1% budged of the n.h.s. caring
more for fatties and smokers... wisecrack.
well, what are the parisians gonna do... #: weareeaglesofdeathfans...
that won’t sell... my bet is... they won’t even bother
to entourage democracy this time... watch and learn boys...
they shot sub-culture admirers... they won’t march...
we’re **** to them... the neo-hippies...
they... will... not... march... this time, i promise you that.
it’s not politically adequate for the WE STAND TOGETHER pantomime...
they won’t.... i know them when i see them
crazy eyed and pathetic and uncourageous...
so unto satan and the kabbalah...
ever hear the post-traumatic stress-disorder of satan
having to hear ah ah ah oh oh oh uh uh uh
of woman?
there’s only two left... eh / i = pronoun....
satan does not have access to the vowels e and i....
i.e. he took back a tape recording of ***** into hell
to play on loop... while the tortures took place...
sweet music some say...
let’s see tomorrow.
theoretically though? losing the prefix un-,
and attributing something more functional
in relation to the conscious faculties of thought / memory /
imagination... you can only decrease your chances
of dreaming and provide the antidote to the theories
of the unconscious... it's already stressed in psychiatric
theory as animalistic... animals make sense of the world
with their distinctive "onomatopoeias" & intuition;
write poetry like it's a front-page story
that shoved through the queue elbowing people
to be first... hit the molten iron into shape while it's
amber hot... reference actual immersion in the world
(existence), rather than referencing non-immersion
in the world of idealism (essence / not
necessary essentials).

Inspired by the dream of the founders of city
Collated by planning of leaders and mayor,
Built by the muscle and sweat of believers
A Masterpiece fashioned for pride and for care.

Magnificent structures of bridges and tunnel
Faultlessly conjoined by highways of God,
Dreamt by the forebears of knowledge and passion
Crafted in concrete and sculpted in rod.

Towering edifices scything through city
Asphaltic motorways curving with grace
Estuaries bridged by elegant girders
Created by vision with tears on it’s face.

Fashioned by strength and belief in the promise
Fashioned by fortitude's strong hand as guide,
Crafted by people's belief in tomorrow
A Vision for Auckland and nation with pride.



Marshalg
With the Wellconnected Alliance.
AUCKLAND N.Z.
(Inspired by the animation on a good Mayor’s face)
6pm,14 February 2013


© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

Today, I was sitting on the SEPTA, on my way to work as usual.
Suddenly, a Secane Bro appeared. This wasn't just any bro, it was a special breed, rare and only to be found at the Secane station between the hours of 7 am to 9 am and again from 4 pm to 6pm.

These are the Indian research bros.

They come in with gelled hair, starched shirts (ranging from pink, sorry, salmon, to white) and the indelible odor of Indian cooking and men's cologne.
For a more science-driven bro, a heavy backpack is essential, while the cooler bros have headphones and briefcases.

The bros are often self-conscious and gang together.
They rarely have a female companion, since such a thing is against the bro-code. They always sit together, or at least in the same car.

Most of all, the bros have hope.
They are ambitious,
flying fish in the dreary SEPTA morning atmosphere,
zealous believers willing to jump
through whatever loop and
hoop to get their own piece of the
American dream.

Dream on bros, dream on.

I'm raw my flow  consumes dextrose
Tell peta  I do the most
Loud sounds I'm out in the public
Friends with  Lions we close like cousins
I'm cooking ..in a gourmet kitchen
Chicken is my opposition
Sweet and sour
Predator I'm not a scavenger no coward
Blood falls I need a shower
Drip drop dew mornings
Don't sleep on me like comas
Consuming beats down to the bone
I sip the marrow for a bonus

I am clean like an infants first wash no rap sheet
Walking thru the market
Like shouldn't food be free
Didn't God give us the same control he gave Adam and eve
I am sorry my mind at times goes on a spree
A spree of thoughts
My brain is heavy plus it kicks bass drum
My thoughts run miles
I need pennies for my thoughts
Must be properly endowed

Watch what you eat fool check your food
Fool check your spoon
Food poison
Nasty now you vomiting fluids flowing a fountain
To that server you should have watched how you spoke
Face timing yourself
Seeing your mouth move
Saliva crashing into the coast of your tooth
Yuck images social products
Dislike that dislike you
Keep it true
Tom sawyer and Huck
Instafriends
On instagram
Madoff money instascam


The Poets Lounge go to www.youhavetolisten.com
Every Tuesday 6pm-8pm

Sometimes it is 4am and I'm awake
relearning to breathe, calming my heart
because for once you saw me and smiled
and the reality, well it tears me apart

Sometimes it is 2pm and I'm anxious
heart pounding and hands shaking
because I know in twenty minutes
I have to seem perfect for the taking

Sometimes, it is 6pm and I'm thinking
whether I'm annoying or just weird
I just.. kinda hope sometimes for once
It wasn't just as I feared.

(and I don’t know why we are mongrels in our heart,
but hell… Lets ask em-

Roman nose.
Broken.
pug shaped unheard of thought ******* away cos
its been awoken by high rising spirit,
but call it anything, call it the breaking of your phone
that’s replaced by another when you feel a chorus stretching
into your ***** gut when they speak, just calling…

blown away from thalidomide arms of private growths
death from long ago neither feminine nor masculine
posture of slumped morning brighter than split stare
of obliterated ***** hit gently hard and lit
my heart knows: my sheets are a poor excuse
for where the room suffers our corporeal rage
in our calming conversation

within country stare of effortless green, some:
knowingness, perceives madness from outside
its woven hands so accepted in the city as it cries,
and walks together; shed upon from all parts of its locking voice
a union within the falling parts, of islandeque love
when rising to hard abyss pardoned when nurtured,
fate, a toothless, small, finishing chew

smothered out from car fume; Buddha can’t speak anymore
birds can’t speak anymore, even the locksmiths have words
without need; i stop in a graffieted place, my veins happy
to just sense: home: proto – home, before…

with whom there is a consensus in the lewdness, rabid as 6pm
is; opened by wild cooked silk until it is made, and
ready, I’m shattered, my bloodiness has no body, none,
worth me jacking it all in, or talking, about new governments,
ours-

explosives walking through arcs of dimmed light
intoxicants highlighted in fading windows, brimming and walled open
beneath my feet, i would run, i would strip
open, the exhausted car parts
yelling, but the impermanence, of us, is the grey ebb
and flow, of engines colouring, this city, impassable
by our actions- full of Bachiacic choice, stopped at the
gate dead, when anything wants to speak inside our home,
apart from your voice, and mine

and i did not know, that cities were so moveable and
pleasurable, and that madness is always correct when animals cling
in agreement; Karma of infinite silence between them when needed-
rebearing low glance into imploding music
down past eye, oesophagus, stomach gently reseeding
hands of movement, dust spokes of haphazard drivers
like the proof in the wetness of the most lifelike dreams that
humanise the raven infancy of the winters blood

insight baked by the sun’s finally accepted sea
in clay, where we must adore what we create from our hands,
and adore the cinders of its coldness as things that can
be anything with any touch; the holograms choice in emotion
the: ‘I’:

only a background chorus
of floating crickets when we whisper, torture moons losing there grip amongst
the unsolid shapes, passing, us, as we walk through,
universal… ‘axioms’, summiting, to a peak, near the soul, when raw, but never there;
we must speak about ‘all or nothing’, in a different way, instead
as the pattern is completed by: ‘immersion’, two servants of the
womb, a judge, and a convict, and the jury broke and sprinkled
across the horizon where we walked like my grandfathers ashes

we don’t gibe, the rest, if we get there
we won’t look across the heard and pick out the
leprositic ways that are outside of our own, there is no
pride, there is no ‘knowledge’ of pride, there’s only
a proto-home, there’s unsaid gasp of what we shall eat
from the flawless flow of the weeks hard work, where we asked for no
prairie, hell, we didn’t even ask for a ticket flattened into a card
that’ll pay for it all
but hell, that’s ok

it’s a while till pay day,
but hey, i’m happier than a slave being paid in the rip-tide of several
monks and maidens authoring where i’m sold
in awesome gloom- one finds themselves a violin
even if they can’t play, even if, they have no limbs
most times, those too
go, or jitter when you don’t want them too in the middle
of the gala
i have already trusted them to you, however;
so, i’m sold, and happy.

As our grave has no flowers yet.

And we are the flowers upon that grave.

And we are the owl howling.

At that grave.

And we are the grave eaters.

And the only.

Animals.

Who can stop them.

traffic gets busy
everyone wants to get home
and so does the moon

I captained logs lovingly across
a musky pond
to hang stars on this date
when so much happened.
Let’s wake in the missed-me morrow
and I’ll try to recapture it.

6am

My aroused heart pounds with the eager
pecks of new world sparrows
feasting on a found pile of saltine *******
crumbs.

With these easier pickings, they can gloss
over hypothetical seeds lost
and the unfortunate insects
still trapped in their tightly wrapped buds
while emitting
a silky trickle of pollen sweetened tears
I might have once confused as joy.

8am

My mouth is a cast iron bell
robbed of its moistness
and the service of a tongue that would rather be
surgically cut without
the requisite anesthesia
than extol with slithering anticipation
the downfall of cold-blooded prey.

A grubby grimace can’t
switch off the cockle-less warmth
gazed by an elegantly impolite swan,
but amazingly cottony soft escapes can
be ginned with the bait of a choirboy’s tender
“Have mercy!”

10am

My nutmeg brown irises are diced
fresh and tossed into a ***
where spiced hot they’re shown
the urgency this yet-to-be plucked rose feels
when the mid-morning light
accumulates with enough heat
to bake the earth chocolate.

The tattered edges of her puckered lips
glow an ardent shade of pink and make
a beacon, signaling kingly butterflies to abdicate
their aimless flutters and jet
directly toward her alluring realm.

Noon

My usually cool tips can’t maintain
their aloof trance and they trip
red with sudden blushes over the damaged
clasp on a school girl’s lunch box
crayoned with lemonade kittens,
their wordless greetings.

It’s unlatched to reveal no magic
pressed in the chunks of pickle loaf,
but the foetid and desperate
fruits of a wish for can’t-stay-at-home mothers
to be released from the wages of others’
drudgery.

A squirrel drags her white bread
and dappled meat onto the play lot
where the child’s storm-cloud stare
breaks with the flash
and low rumble of laughter.

2pm

My soles crave the touch of loose-dirt
roads, but it’s my ankles that meet
brambles and are torn by their tiny kisses
from which a rubbery
beauty of sappy drips trails back
to grow pastel primavera blooms.

Their long, tapered necks
and delicate, glassy horns blow
the modulated notes of an icy hymn.

Its diamante flecks freckle
the hovering blue before falling
to press these young,
painted plants into a frieze
and free them from wilting.

4pm

My nape aches for the subtle
weight on not supple joints
between thick fig branches
powdered with a maquillage of snowy dust.

No one care can snap them
or keep them from sheltering
the grazes of constantly bleating sheep.

Candy floss wool is tinted
jonquil then apricot then cherry
as the distant and fiery ball of a sun
slowly descends to the quenching
splash in its night-deposit bucket.

6pm

My unencumbered back gently rolls with a raft
adrift on ripples raised
when unknown aquatic creatures
stir in a shallowly cupped liquid.

Their pleasant plunks and gleeful gurgles
are carried on the crisply creeping evening
air to wash away
the unsavory wafts of salty rumors.

Here I can’t scent the far-removed
oceans racked by hunger’s
chilling frissons and the pundit’s
raging rants to at all-costs maintain
the elevation of market-priced pap.

And I drifted off...

i have just come home from a long walk. the time is around 6pm
on an august sunday in new york city
i am listening to a record by cannonball adderley as the early evening sunshine streams
through my windows. i prefer vinyl to digital music. my apartment on 86th street is small but clean. there is fried chicken and fresh strawberries in the refrigerator but i am not hungry right now. i have 2 cats that are both 5 years old. they are well fed and happy. later tonight i will fall asleep in my big beautiful bed and dream of you and about how God works in such wondrous ways.

502 bad gateway bypass...
title: shattering of stone
body:
in the rubble: a mountain could
be found;
as might be suggested...
given enough time and there's plenty
of it, as there is of space...
the now known deserts of the world...
were once great mountain ranges...
the ancient Egyptians even tried
to replicate this truth by erecting pyramids...
as if implying: look! look!
there were once mountains here!
now! there's nothing but sand!
how the gods, grunted at the idea of mountains
in what is not Sahara... fickle creatures
like the creatures they created are...
who knows... perhaps there will one day
be the desert of Himalaya...

i felt it coming at me like a freight train...
i was going in for work sharp...
woke up at 6am, had a coffee and ate the prepared
bun with pickles and liver pate...
but couldn't finish it... drank a coffee and smoked
a cigarette... had a shower, pampered myself
with about 7 different pampering products...
usually i'm obviously to how i smell like...
but on the bus i could quiz myself:
who here smells like soap and who here smells
like either stale bread or a curry / eggs?
that's the 86 route for you...
it's the immigrant bus... and... funnily enough...
i'm an immigrant myself... although...
it's different when you come to foreign shores
aged 8... and thrown into the education system
rather than bypass all that jazz & enter the work
force... by immigrant status i'm a veteran of sorts...
by 7am the pains and spasms in my abdomen were
becoming excruciating... i could feel
a plug-hole of a **** building up...
      like a bear before retiring to hibernation...
i wouldn't be able to just simply, **** this plug-hole
of a **** out before or on the job...
why? because there would be more to come...
dizzying effects of focus...

i was nervous... she said she would be coming to
do a shift today... who? Jeminah...
she sent me a text telling me how anxious she was...
i figured... the best... blatant: covert question
would be... you worried the trains are not working?
oh... you can get the 86 bus... the tube might be open...
pulling a long long stick...
a lever even... something Archimedes would
use to lift a mountain off the ground...
she felt anxious... oh... because of those two storms?
Eunice - the worst for 30 years...
red weather alerts? you worried about that?
i was seriously stroking a massive bear silly...
she felt anxious for all the reasons i wanted her
to feel anxious about...
n'ah... the way to get to the venue wasn't on her mind...
neither was the weather...
she was found out... she didn't want to be in
the company of the other girls...
and because i put my foot down:
this is getting silly... i'm not going to get blamed
for your son's and her son's friendship fallout...
telling the truth...
    what a recurrent theme with me these days...
well... at least its not a soap opera style of
a multiverse of competing dramas...
there's only one... and i'm fortifying myself with
all the right answers... i need to play this out
like an opera... petty **** that can grow and grow like
that must be explored from many angles...
down the line...

she didn't show up... the other two girls involved
acted slightly funny... she must have passed on
my Pontius Pilate messages: i'm washing my hands clean
of the matter... you girls created this issue...
you sort it... those two boys are not falling out
over something their mums did...

handshakes all round... two clingers...
one ****** with a nervous tick but one guy with
cerebral palsy... well... oddly enough...
having been a recluse for almost a decade...
i have managed to surprise myself by fitting the role
of a people person... i don't know where i was storing
this confidence... self-assurance... stoic silence...
i don't feel the need to talk unless talked to...
sure... i might say an anecdote or two:
how Millwall fans at Fulham told me a joke
about a West Ham player who's fond of kicking
cats... cat lives matter...

the shift itself... West Ham are back to their usual
antics of not respecting lesser opponents...
Newcastle are on a campaign trail to survive
in the Premier League... two of their best players weren't
playing: yet they still managed to draw 1 - 1...

who do you think are going to fall?
i says: Burnley had it coming for the past two years...
yeah... Watford is a boomerang team...
one season on the Premier level...
the next on the Championship level...

seems i can have much fun with people,
whether coworkers or the actual public...
the freaks among the coworkers follow me like
dogs, while the public?

an old lady wanted me to use her camera to take
photographs with the West Ham mascots:
some bear mascot was first, then Harry the Hammer...
i had to tap Harry's shoulder when a father asked me
to call him back while he moved along the stand
so he could go back and have a photograph taken
with his kid: so heavily padded he almost didn't feel
my touch...
but he went back...
then that retired police officer that took my side
when some busy-body ***** of a: not my supervisor
kept on demanding i put on a face mask...
that infernal: secular niqqab...
the retired police officer noted: he's distraught...
**** the club: if they can think they can get away
imposing their own rules: all staff must wear ******
coverings... this busy-body even said:
i don't you not covering your nose...
so, what then? my chin is capable of breathing?!
scale of escalation... the from me to the supervisor
to the busy-body third part...
the ex-police officer used the hypothetical
argument: but i have a deaf person, friend,
sitting next to me: he needs to lip read...
how is he going to read my instructions if he can't
see my mouth...
and then... well... i wasn't bothered...
wearing these nappies always brings back
memories of my grandfather's funeral...
he was a big deal in a small-town where i was
born... a foreman in the metallurgy industry...
he knew a lot of people...
but how many showed up to his funeral?
not even the half that i'd have expected...

we kept chatting... my supervisor later came up
and asker me... so...   ?!
oh... you know, we just talked about life...
his father was a widower... living in Cornwall...
he used to get free grub from the local (pub),
but when the pandemic hit...
he lost all WILL to live...
and me says: you know how people say that
you can die from a broken heart,
i guess you can also die from being denied
WILL... we agreed... we shook hands about x3...
like a post-scriptum he asked me for my name
and i asked for his... Mark...
now living in East Sussex... but originally from
Dartford...

Mark said he had thick skin... and i told him...
your eyes are watering... i don't believe it...
looking at them feels like watching a very bountiful
aquarium... you're not going to fool me mate...
life... plus, it's not against the law to not wear
the *****... as i later said:
now you get to see who the people with OCD
and the hypochondriacs are...
yeah: it feels weird... i'm walking around without
the "*****" while my wife is still paying
servitude to outlaw rules...
but if they want to... why deny them the right...
sure sure...

but i had to use a member of the public
to infiltrate the hierarchy on the job...
he used the proper arguments... i was just thinking:
perhaps people just want to see my face...
recognise it... see ****** expressions...
after all: we've been playing a game of pretending
to be Muslim women for two years...
how about we start playing hide & seek once more?

what happened later... the curiosity of the children...
i looked at them, smiled, they smiled back...
they felt so comforted... they felt like:
well... thank god this cubist-esque freak-show is
running and hiding... little girls, little boys...

like i told Mark: but the young 'ung suffered... too...
you need to see people faces,
i might have slouched with the expression
of "****** recognition"... but expressions matter...
you sometimes have to out the tongue to the face...
you want to see someone laugh,
at ease... nowhere near the culture & the people
of Afghanistan... this might have to be the building
block of the supposed "great" restart...
seeing people's faces...
esp. when it comes to children...
they want to see faces they can trust...

but it's outright blatant...
i'm not going to make a comparison between
The Beatles "vs." The Rolling Stones...
for me it always been
Bruce Springsteen "vs." Chris Rea...
no... can't choose...
who the **** do i couple Bob Dylan with?
i'm currently sipping some whiskey while
in the company of ol' Bruce...
ah... Bob Dylan vs. Tom Waits...
        Tommy 'ol boyo...
                    live circus... going out west (live)...
Tom Petty though...

there was one expulsion... a ginger she-male...
all the fans were laughing: don't give her out...
the SIA guys were playing gorillas while
i was on my break... putting my hand on the shoulder
of the hurt party... calm... calm... you ginger ostrich...
stop pandering to the parade of:
already lost teenage hormones...
it sort of worked... i giggled... and no one
became involved... i chewed on my gum like i
like might have been found chewing on a broomstick
or a horses' mane...
i chewed so hard until my jaw hurt...

Tom Waits - going out west (live)...
now we're talking...
prior to Prince dying: you had not access to
songs like Party-man... Trust... all copyrighted
material... yeah.... but i own the best of CD...
why can't i stream it?!
oh, right... he's dead... free-for-all...
free meat for the crows...

why oh why would someone walk up to me
and ask to take a selfie with me?
yeah... this American accented dude...
i watched him through the second half...
off his nuts...
but at half time he walks up to me and asks...
can i take a selfie with you?
sure... weird...
am i famous?! or am i just ****** approachable...
all the other stewards are like bricks in
a mountain: but mountains don't have bricks...
or they're over-anxious busy bodies...
it's like people never learned their NVQ training...

safety, security, service....
the service part is the building part...
you pass off being attired in safety / security tactics...
but... service comes first...
you talk, you interact... you learn to be human...
one year of this, before i ask for being given references...
that's when i'll work toward looking toward a more
permanent employment as a chemistry
teacher... even though... scribbling this sort of *******:
i'd love to become an English teacher...
ha ha... an English teacher... even though i'm not
English...

i need the references... working with my father in
roofing... no, can, do...
they don't want familial ties in references...
one year... i'd still do these gigs on the weekend...
but one year...
you get a chance to deal with a football crowd...
you got a belt... when it might come to dealing
with a classroom of rowdy children...
like Louis XIV stated... it's the trick of the eye...
look the authoritative type...
there's nothing more to it...

then these three supporters at the front...
when they first started singing the song for the cat-lives-matter
footballer who was more into... kicking
cats than a football... how did the lyrics go?
almost Dr. Seuss...
he kicks with his right foot... he kicks with his
left foot... i pursed my lips... i tried to cover my
face with my hand... all the while trying to as
instructed: not taking sides... not showing emotions...

but their remarks came fast... i must have looked
interesting...
so where are you from?
Russia? guess again... Ukraine? nope...
Czech Republic? nope... ******! yep...
but i've been living here since the age of 8...
and i'm 35...
have a nice life: she said... one of them was
ginger... presuppositions of Irish... the beard was
pulled... oh my god, the girl looked proper, proper,
drunk...
i went on a break... i came back:
oh! he's back! you know you're the only one
without a hood on! all the other stewards...
the guy who's usually here is somewhat asleep
while prying open his phone...
where's your pancho against the rain?
oh... i gave it to a spectator... blah blah...

point being... i was actually waiting for her...
Jeminah... all the time... she didn't show up...
i've just received a text from her...
what is... drotaverini hydrochloridum?
i had to take it today...
a rubric of buzzwords...
it sells alongside suggestions akin to the morning-after
pill...

well, it will be a rubric of buzzwords...
i had to take some pills for the cramps in my stomach...
it just felt like one of those Sprintsteen,
Chris Rea, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty sort of nights:
when you feel nervous about thinking bout
a girl while simultaneously feeling nervous
about taking a ****... so you feel like taking a ****
at 7am but delay it to until 5pm... 6pm...
because the girl's easting away at your mind...
you're getting cramps in your abdomen
like you you're about to do a clown trick
with balloons turning them into theoretical poodles...
because you just love the girl:
you just love the girl...
she might be a single mother, she might think
she's a woman... but she's just a girl to you...
even though you're not her father...

oh right... the buzz... words... as someone who studied
chemistry i should know what drotaverini hydrochloridum
is... it's for the abdomen cramps...
for: i ought to have taken a ****...
but here's me stalling...
will she, will you come?
DROVATERINE....
an antispasmodic drug...
   used to enhance cervical dilation during child-birth...
i'm giving birth: to a feeling...
i think i'm in love... she's all anxious...
Bruce's: Maria's Bed... yeah... i'm on that same page
in this story...
esp. noted use in Asia and Central Europe...
i'll be lazy: i'll cite it verbatim:
it's structurally related to papaverine,
is a selective inhibitor of phosphodiesterase 4
and has no anticholinergic effects...

the way i see it... i'm giving birth to love....
i want her fat **** to sit on my face...
sorry... what?!
i'm being absolutely serious...
just looks up the article on Anticholinergics...
i don't have a womb...
but i have a heart that seems to have
sunken into the levels of the intestines...
while i get all spaghetti tangles
for brains...
i'm in love... i can't help it...
she a cougar red head... a deep red...
a mahogany red...
i can't stop thinking about her...
it's exactly impossible to live:
without having to think about her...
anxious cluck by cluck...
if she's not going to abide by failures in life
then... no... life's not worth living without her:
when she's at her pinnacle of failure...
let me pick her up...
let's pretend there's an old world
worth looking at... that there might be a world war
in the theatre... none of these proxies in
the H'American department of... up-keeping
hard-ons and kaleidoscope coyotes...
now for the text messages... why weren't you around?!

i wrote this yesterday, i went downstairs for sone grub
because i couldn't fall asleep...
my mother came down... saw me in my TOMBSTONE
mode... drunk... what? you want me to punch
myself in the face? lucky for her, lucky for me
i remained silent, because the night was silent...
she ****** off i ****** off... today i made mein vater
und mein mutter some ******
chicken broth with vermicelli...
all the usual suspects were used...
the leek, the parsley root, the carrot,
the garlic (skin on), the celery... chicken... d'uh...
although i didn't use the chicken *******...
that's going to be used for a curry...
  
and what are my other options? living alone?
paying rent to a landlord from hell?!
shame... sure... but the attic is full of clutter
and there is no basement...
plus i have a private library the deservedly might
need a proper: HEAVE! HEAVE!
50 oars...

i'm in love and not for all the right reasons...
if my youth took the route of an atypical man...
starting from 20 working my way up...
yeah... but i went mad at the age of 21...
******* invisible choir, great wind dispersing it...
psychiatry that tried to attempt its regression
tactics of implanting me with false memories...
giving me anti-psychotic drugs that fattened me up
until a nurse said:
you either loose weight... or you'll be put
on high-blood pressure tablets...
so... i bought a bicycle... lost 20kg... cycled off
into the sunset...
now... 35... years old... oh... look...
they're looking... they're actually interested...
the young girls have: "woken up"...
yeah... by now? i'm not interested...
i don't and i didn't pay much attention
to the game of genes... it's a fractional impossibility...
unless you're cloning yourself...
by the time you're a grandfather...
only a quarter of you remains...
  why bother with the argument?
        it's silly...Darwinistic unrealism has always been
a thorn in my side...
eh?                            my genes have my consciousness?
i'm... translatable to future generations?
sure... but they can't be my own...
why would i be interested in young girls...
if things worked out for me like they might have
worked out for other men...
a walking *****... and spare parts of monetary dough...
i never wanted to make money...
i took the principle left around for others to see...
between the aesthetic and the ascetic...
well... St. Francis of Assisi...
other men in my position: who have hungered and
been left out in their 20s... now in their 30s can have
their comeback...
their revenge... me? i'm trying to court
a woman 4 years older than me... with a boy
that's 11 years old...
i said: bully them into teaching your German...
you know, it's the mother tongue of English...
grammatically the two languages are very much
aligned... Fredrick... "bully" them into making
you learn Deutsche... i said BULLY i implied:
persuade... do i need to use sign language...
finally... though... a third head on the Hydra...
if i had a little Frankenstein in my possession...
i could be learning Deutsche proper with him....
a youngling like that... sponge for brains...
maybe i could teach him some of my ****** zunge...
wow... no no... that's the whole point of turning
toward art... by 35 i could have been earning
100+ £... yawn... no, truly...
playing this to-and-fro with younger girls
because i now might have status...
not much fun... to be exacting...
single mum... problems at school...
you should learn German rather than French...
he understood it splendidly...

             just you wait... i'll get him into modern German
folk music... did i buy her off with my homemade wine
and him with my own made banana loaf with hazelnuts?!
here's to me!
salute!

              - on these isles for most of my life...
35 - 8 = 27... twenty-seven ******* years!
and no chance at a pluck at the Rose...
up north she was giving it up to grooming gangs
from Pakistan... down south...
shy ******* nunnery: "all of a sudden"!
but now... ah... this... hybrid of Scotch and English
stock... i'm shuddering... i'm still getting these
cramps in my abdomen that says:
you have a womb... what?! i'm transgender?!
what the ****?!

that's why i didn't want to earn money...
well... it's not that i didn't want to...
you see what happens when you go mad aged
21... and how you figure things out...
at least now i'm not a target...
i don't have anything to offer expect for...
knowledge...
it's a blessing...
since... it's hardly what any woman wants...
women tend to want only their own advice...
they conjure this advice like witches conjure up...
perhaps the rosemary herb
goes well with lamb... but like the Turkish
broads suggested... but if you add it to beef...
oh! mein! gott! the Turkish lavash!
with that red onion & parsley roughage of
a side salad... mouth-watering stuff...
i don't really need to see the competitive hard-on
of whatever Sultan to counter the Hagia Sophia...
just that beef lavash...
and yes, you'd be wrong... English cheddar
works just as well...

but... i'm no Frank O'Hara... there's no qualm in
me about not being a painter...
why i'm not a painter translates to me as:
why am i not a painter?
i abhor colours... well... i like some more than
others... the amber and the auburn...
the greens... whiskey... autumn...
but when it comes to movies?
i prefer them to be black & white... less strain
on the eyes...
if images are moving? black & white...
sure... no one is expected to paint in black & white...
like no one is expected to write in
rainbow hieroglyphics... i can stand for an hour
beside a colour painting...
it doesn't move, i don't move...
time, the world: moves...
fair enough...
but colour-riddled movies?
a strain on the eyes...
    why am i not a painter?
                     why am i not a narrator?!
i'm clearly neither... what's the middle ground?
priest? psychiatrist? *******... poet?!
oh you have to be choking me to make me joke...
let alone laugh... but i'm not rhyming...
but there was a time and a place
when people identified this art with
a need for mathematics... measure... ticture...
rhyme... music...
like **** that's happening now: proper...

- perhaps it's not painting, i think it;s painting,
perhaps lacking in colour, perhaps lacking in contorts..
in shapes, in disguises...
what? no traffic light: goes green?
no traffic light remains red?
no middle ground for the amber?
no cyclist prepped to be the shepherd of traffic?
to leech onto a truck where he might be
visible... to orientate the roundabout congestion?
no one, ever, minded, this?!
before moi!
           oh... what shame... what utter shame...
we were supposed to help each other out...
not be these... petty demigods...
silly ******* idiots...

             i might have to reiterate my stance...
she's giving me the love-ups making me feel like a woman...
i'm getting cramps in my abdomen...
sure... i ought to have taken a **** 7 hour prior...
but i keep it in... like a bear about to hibernate:
a plug-hole ****...

- anticholinergic agent are substances that block the action of the neurotransmitter called acetylcholine (ACh) at synapses in the central and peripheral nervous system...

-  anticholinergics are divided into two categories in accordance with their specific targets in the central and peripheral nervous system and at the neuromuscular junction: antimuscarinic agents, and antinicotinic agents (ganglionic blockers, neuromuscular blockers...

she says she's anxious... i'm nervous too!
i'm getting cramps in my stomach...
i'm giving birth to love...
i want access to her son... i want to learn Deutsche
with him... is that too much to ask?
i don't have the sort of money
to access younger, fertile, girls...
i'm left with single mothers... MUFFAS...
oh... she's rounded... like the earth ought to be...

i'm still shy on one reply...

Apologies for the lateness of this message, came home and "had to", i.e. wanted to make some Silesian gnocchi with beef in a dill and a horseradish sauce... cooking for three, it takes time, then I fought up on some footie... was soaked at West Ham, but it was a good shift.... so what happened to you? Weren't you supposed to come? I found out late that the tube was working, managed to use it on the way back... so what happened? What were you anxious about? The bad weather the day before? I took a walk for a newspaper when the storms hit... it was almost fun-windy... at one point I stood rooted in one place for about 3sec being unable to move... the winds almost roared, i even stopped listening to music on my headphones as I listened to the wind whizz by and ruffle the trees... sort of like ASMR but with a loud speaker... I imagined the wind ruffling the trees like someone brushing their hair on an ASMR video... you feeling better though, yes? You doing Fulham this week?

but we're talking about a psychotic girl...
one layer of narrative against another...
she might as well conjure up
a missing 13 year old cousin
to just test you...
thar's how it works...
this reality, this ugly "thing"...
and the deviances of how much
i want to sleep with her...
there... i said it... beautiful view.

Driving along an empty street
at 6pm you
reach the beach.
The sun is halfway set.
You sit there and watch it sink into the ocean.
you think it's gone but then you remember
something you read a long time ago.
You run up to the lifeguard tower
and climb to the top.
When you get there, you can see
a sliver of the sun, setting again.

Nothing is ever gone if you remember
to change your perspective.

You were 2,937 miles away
white water rafting in a native equatorial 33 degree heat in a foreign land I've never even been close to or know much about,
(except of course the stereotypical facts that this country is overflowing with moose and is abundant in trees dripping with the most golden maple syrup leaves)
when it was 6pm here and 2pm there and ahead of your time I was trying to make sense of the mess of missing you in my head by embodying it in the mountain of clothes on my bedroom floor
accompanied by the local mainstream music radio station blasting from my neglected 3 year old speakers
(I couldn't find my aux cord at the time and desperate times call for desperate measures)
after all, background noise helps to block out the overhanging realisation that what I am physically doing is actually work, no matter how musically unappealing it may be.
Among the 4 chord formulaic chart tunes on repeat suddenly came an acoustic guitar and husky lyrics too personal to be relatable with an obliviousness to who the artist or what the song was and the fact that I didn't really care
but how all at once I froze in my 4 hours ahead future and my focus was replaced by the overwhelming wave of the feeling
of missing you.
Missing the one piece of my patchwork heart that stitched all the seams in the first place, and all that filled me in that moment was what writers and word enthusiasts would call Saudade; a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent someone that one loves, often carrying a repressed knowledge that the person of longing might never return. "The Love That Remains" permeated my heart and soul and you were 2,937 miles too far away to put my mind at ease,
white water rafting beneath halcyon skies the same colour turquoise as the oceans separating us, and
I know how much you love flying and I never told you at the time,
you know I had to hide that inside I was dying
when that message came through about the engine subsiding,
my life and breath were in my mouth while your flight was taken off the runway at 1am Eastern Time,
2,937 miles away you were cornered in an airport terminal
(there were complications involving an escalator and your luggage)
and all I could do was read your ongoing commentary from my room through a 6 by 10 centimetre phone screen and be the reassuring soulmate I am but
Sweetheart I was scared shitless of the possibility that you might not come home because of a thunderstorm at 1am on the other side of the world that I wouldn't even get to be afraid of while you would have loved every second of it.
I'm still trying to stop being scared of thunderstorms. So that maybe someday I can sit with you and watch all the different bursts of beautiful and terrifying shapes the lightning makes
-without stopping all the blood rushing to your hand from how hard I am squeezing it.
But contrary to my subconscious paranoia
You came back safe,
with more freckles for me to fall in love with and the abrupt addition of "eh"'s trailing off the ends of your sentences
along with the ability to allow my worn-out heart to finally resume it's steady beat the moment your feet touched down and at least we were looking at the same expanse of sky again.

Although it might take a while in our time zone with our clocks caught up before we make our ends meet again,
I will allow myself to take refuge in that knowledge that we are walking on the same stretch of soil under the same moon and
the constellations of stars you find comfort in talking to when you can't sleep.
Only 93 miles away this time.

Perhaps?
We'll take that walk.
When your sun drifts from our view
And my moon gets prepared to take her place
In the dawn of night-
We'll walk.
Through the amber settings of 6pm
And remain in that mist until our souls meet again
In the dew swept calm or morning.

-danielle.a.watson

The glitz and glamour of the fashion world descended on the city once again as Oxford Fashion week returned for its 10th season.

Models strutted their stuff on the catwalk at the Town Hall on Friday evening as the crowd saw shows from 12 designers.

Champagne flowed at the after party, where a raffle and silent auction were held in support of Oxfordshire Youth – the county's charity for young people.

The show was intimate, with just three rows of seating surrounding the catwalk.

Carl Anglim, the director of Oxford Fashion Studio, said: "Oxford has its own character and charm and we try to bring that to every show we do."

Anya Conlon, the face of this year's fashion week, modelled a dress at the after party which was donated by famous designer Omar Mansoor.

Many of the models attending the party wore their looks from the runway for guests to more closely see the intricate designs.

The 6pm show featured independent collections and ready to wear designs from high street boutiques and retailers.

Highlights included shows from two masters graduates sponsored by Jericho fashion shop Olivia May – Constance Blackaller and Katie McGuigan.

The 8pm show was titled Concept + Couture and displayed eccentric collections from prominent local designers.

Dumpster Design created a dress made entirely of discarded materials from Oxfordshire Youth while Caterina *******debuted her colourful Homage to Camouflage collection for her Kraken Counter Couture studio.

Ms *******incorporated her 'K sizing system' in to her designs, which is uniquely tailored to transgender individuals.

She said: "To me it didn't seem new. I felt like somebody should be doing it.

"Its something that I'm very proud to do – I have many friends and family in the LGBT community."

Gender fluidity was a theme throughout the night as the Crease show sent several male models down the runway in women's coats and dresses.

Model Luka Nikolic said: "I think 2016 is the year for gender fluidity.

"If you're a man wearing women's clothing or a woman wearing men's clothing you can't say that's wrong."

A surprise attendance was made by designers Dylan & Izzy, who are featured on the BBC show All Over the Workplace.

The show, hosted by Alex Riley, shows children the inner workings of different workplaces and this week the children tried their hand at fashion design.

The Town Hall extravaganza marked the end of fashion season, with fashion weeks in New York, London and Milan starting again in early 2017.

Mr Anglim said: "Many of our designers will go to London, New York and Paris, but our favourite thing to do is come home to Oxford."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

i want to be
your 6pm
dinner date
and then
your 6am
hushed kisses

i want to be both

we could go round the clock

I used to hate the color orange,
But when we pop mandarins into our mouths between Creamsicle-sweet kisses I feel as if I’m being transported to a different dimension where we’re the only two in existence.
You’re the sunlight that hits the earth at 6pm, making everything seem as if it’s warm and glowing.
Every time I see a candle flame flicker I can’t help but think of you who exudes the same ambiance of alleviation that the walls of my childhood home once did.
If sunrise and sunset were to be combined, they still wouldn't compare to the magnetizing brilliance of your aura.
You emulate autumnal earth tones and crackling wood in brick fireplaces, echoing your heartbeat and bringing about a sense of raw intimacy shared between two.
I trace my fingertips down your spine, reflecting upon the likeness between you and the sun,
And I wonder why no one ever named a color after you.

i knew this was going to happen,
for three days i was beside myself after having met her
at work, the way she smiles...
she creases her face like someone might
crease a piece of paper...
there's nothing menacing about it...
but she does it in this most splendid of ways...

oh she went out of her way today,
she took out her earrings, she didn't have any
rings on her fingers...
i abhor any metallic additions to the body...
i esp. abhor earrings,
i esp. abhor rings on fingers...
i'm fine with a necklace...
but anything else is a massive turn off...
today i found that beside the hands being
the most ****** part of a woman's body...
closely second... are their ears...
and she's a petite girl... 5ft2...
when we finally said our goodbyes i only had
to wrap one hand around her to bear hug her...
we didn't kiss the cheeks upon meeting
so upon saying a long goodbye
i had to do it twice, before ******* off...

she said: between 5 and 6pm...
she first texted me: is it o.k. that we move it for 6pm?
sure... no problem...
so i ate a brilliant salmon teriyaki
noodles... tarted myself up...
the housework was already done,
i stocked up on whiskey for tomorrow:
Bolton Wanderers are apparently going
to be a rowdy bunch up in Oxford...
put on my butcher boy's cap...
dressed in my per usual attire of...
how did my ex's younger sister put it?
oh... 'Matt... he's always dressed in earthly colours'...
yep... anything brown, green,
i'll be wearing that...

         it's a good thing that i use my mobile
when i have access to the internet indoors...
and when outside? i only turn on mobile data
when i need to call someone,
otherwise i switch it off...
      i'm travelling... whether that's by car,
bicycle or merely walking...

she sent me a text...

   Matt i was fine til about 30mins ago... now i'm
doubled up with a belly ache (crying emoji face)
probably trapped wind (sad emoji face)
might have to put you off for an hr see if it subsides x

there's no hindsight with that...
i arrived five minutes prior to six pm...
bearing... the promised bottle of wine...
some banana loaf i made for her son:
at one point the dog was barking mad about sniffing
it out... she had to tell the dog off...
'no, it's not yours'...
and a bottle of Franziskeiner Weissbier for myself...
i asked to be topped up with a glass
of wine: my throat was getting dry...

she wasn't going to stall me...
oh, you want to know what teenage butterflies feels,
having them in your stomach?
it was silly of my to have felt them for
3 days after meeting you?
you're not getting off so easily...
if you have feelings for me?
you're going to feel them...

and she was all ready to begin with...
scented candles in the house, the house tidied up...
incense in the kitchen...

now i see the bigger picture...
women only love men by the women feel about
themselves around certain man...
i mean... i dated a 6ft girl once... but this one...
this pretty red-haired ****** has me all fired up...
and it now seems... she's reciprocating...
we're still at this nervous stage of out-thinking
each other...

but when she opened the door i could see...
ooh oh... something's up...
she tried to not be nervous...
i gave her my home-made wine in
a wine bottle from South Africa: Arabella...
i just sent her a link to a song
that inspired me: the Arctic Monkeys' song
of the same title...

i came at 6... left eleven minutes past 9pm...
she wanted me to stay longer,
but i said to her: and you know i have work
tomorrow... plus you said you came back
from work and Freddy came back from school
and you really haven't spoken to each other...
plus you just said you're going to run a bath...

my god, how she elevated her beauty without
donning any armour of rings and earrings...

yeah, i know there's a kid in the background...
that's why i brought the banana loaf with me
and i'm not thinking about sleeping with her...
i need to elevate the tension in her...
until she snaps...

          time... precious time...
and as he put a chair in the kitchen for me to sit on...
and as i watched her prepare a meal for her son...
my god... how happy she looked...
she played all the songs that spoke for her...
we exchanged a like for Dua Lipa and Mabel...
what?!
she danced, she laughed, she sang...
she has a beautiful voice...
she delighted me... with her new found happiness...

she danced, she laughed, she sang...
she almost looked like a teenager once more...
i just sat there before another face emerged
when my voice suddenly dropped lower
and became more husky...

come on, what are my options?
she has lost a few children along the way via miscarriage,
she only has this one boy,
i tell her: i'm the only child myself...
her older brother is living with his parents
and he's a bully,
i tell her: i'm rather ashamed of still living with
my parents, but i do all the cooking,
the cleaning and if the garden needs work...

she's super excited about having a hot tub...
i have a hot tub... not one of those inflatable types...

she illuminated her vinyl player today
when i sent her a photo of my rack with books
from the floor to the ceiling and a bunch
of vinyls: oh, you should have told me...
i would have brought a record over...
blah blah...

i don't know how 6pm turned into 9pm...
well... if the dog is barking mad about sniffing that banana
loaf... i hope the two of them will be as mad
about it as the dog...
but it's only fair... if i'm getting butterflies in my stomach
after initially meeting her...
she should feel some of that herself...
see if she likes it...

i didn't... we gently touched hands while she showed
me a book of pictures of old Romford...
i told her: i'll bring a copy of a book: similar
from where i was born... famous in the 20th century
for its metallurgy... all those metal poles
at that Paris stadium? they came from my hometown...

Edinburgh is as dear to my heart as Paris...
believe me... that city has ghosts...

it's such a perfect storm...
     she has her period pains and psychosis...
i've had my psychosis and ejaculations...
you know: mad meets mad...
all her past relationships were with violent
alcoholics... i'm a drinker that makes his own
wine... the only person i was ever violent to
when drinking? me... i put out cigarettes
butts on my knuckles when i say to myself:

ENOUGH, OF THE *******, BUTTERFLIES!
i need a higher experience...
none of all this mushy-mushy *******...
i need a penetrating sensation...
something that goes into the territory of
the nerves...

my god, how she danced, how she laughed, how she sang...
i'm pretty sure her son was like:
who's this guy that's making my mum
feel so good about herself?
she literally ran outside of the house
and started dancing in the garden...
yet all the while trying to stall me... ghost me...

no... i'm not having it... you're getting this wine,
you're getting this banana loaf: whether
you like it, or not...
i'm not going to drink it, i'm not going to eat it...
i really don't care about your past...
sure... you ****** up...
anyone who hasn't ****** up...
is about to **** up...
but, see... it's not like she's even remotely interested
in what i have to say...
she's so high on herself that i fall back...

why am i only child? well... you know... Chernobyl...
women in Poland had to drink iodine... blah blah...
she's not exactly interested in me...
i know that... because she's regained a focus
for being re-interested in herself...
she's found herself, once more,
but the self she found... oddly enough:
she didn't expect to be so young!

she looked like a teenage girl, she behaved like
a teenage girl...
   it's very lovely to see a woman nearing her 40s
behaving like she might be...
oh... i'd say in the range of 8 through to 14 years of age...
let's get real...
i'm not going to be looking for women in their
20s... all geared up for their anti-racist
black fascist ****** escapades...
o.k., darling: you do you...

                n'ah... i'm not having any of that crap...
give me a: cougar...
a puzzle-box of a woman...
let me see if i can fit it... into her life...
i don't do anti-racism...
after all... all the Jimmy Carr jokes wouldn't
be funny...
why would i want Jimmy Carr's jokes
to not be funny...
point blank reference... stand-up comedy:
the monologue approach to jokes
is a very English thing...

in Poland? you have satire... satire staged
within the confines of a... cabaret...
you have cabaret comedy...
which involves multiple actors...
rarely... almost never will you have
monologue stand-up comics...
stand-up comedy is an exclusively English
"thing"...

but the English are not really prone to
enjoy satire... beside... a newspaper comic strip...
that's about how much satire as
the English public entertains...
not to mention... "us", Polacks...
are a very self-deprecating people...
comedy is very self-deprecting...
but the people who enjoy it...
take themselves very seriously...
weird, no?
maybe because the theme of satire is only
allowed for political "concerns" and is never
made omnipresent in an English society...
bad translation...
everyday people can't be satirised in
the satire of everyday situations
for the simple reason that there has to be
a comedy sketch of: someone appearing / thinking
they're smarter than the other person...
therefore? the comedy of one...
rather than the satire of the many..

i.e. the situation is funny... therefore everyone is
in on the joke...
no... in England... this hyper-inflated gut *** of
emotions of non-feeling...
the personal joke is more important than
a shared joke... satire via the cabaret is of
the latter category... the former? eh... solipsism...
autism... whatever you want to call it...
it takes... a whole lot of specifics to get it right...
but stand-up comedy...
from what i've seen...
doesn't translate as well as you go further east...

a bit like THINKING... English people are too
pragmatic to think... in Europe: "thinking" is either
done by the French or the Germans...
pragmatic... egalitarian... unitarian...

ah... now i see why she was bothered about...
why i used G... instead of J when writing down
her name... the daughters of Job...
the other two were Keziah and Keren...
little dove...

and i subsequently sent her an explanation...
blah blah... well...
there's that... now i can return to drinking
and rubbing my hands together
like a fly.

they’re waiting on me in there
i just sobbed harder than i have in years
in here on my bathroom floor
and they’re waiting on me in there
where we’ll talk about new signs on the highway
and why the dogs are howling
and we’ll watch an old tv show
and i’ll pretend i relate to them
they’re waiting on me in there

i’ll say i got soap in my eyes
and that’s why they’re so red
they’ll know i was crying
but it’s the charade that counts

they’re waiting on me in there
i said i’d be quick but it’s been a long time
i needed time to be so, so sad
to be so far gone in this emptiness
that i didn’t even care if i came back

i’m sitting on my bathroom floor
so alone
and i don’t want to be anywhere else at all
i think that’s really, really sad

i’ve come to realize
that everything i put out into the world
is an apology for being there
in the first place
so, here goes:

i am sorry.