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untrue Jun 2015
let me equate my genitals
to a predatory animal
to illustrate my ****** prowess
and mating standards
in song:

my vampire squid don't
my vampire squid don't
my vampire squid don't want none
unless you got an anaconda ***

my disdain for your personality
and general mentality
is also strong, simply because:

i like big ***** and i cannot lie
you other sisters can't deny
that when a boy walks in with a six pack
and a hose thing in your face
you get wet

disembodying objectification,
stereotypical representation,
hedonistic utilitarianism,
and *** ed with some rhyme:

black boy sippin' white wine
put my fist in him like a civil rights sign
then he came like aaaaah! (1)
(1) that's kanye, apparently: "i'm in it"
parody purposes and all
AJ Oct 2013
I was going to write this poem
On anxieties and procrastination.
But then I decided to write it later.
But that really freaked me out.
So here it is.
Third Eye Candy Nov 2011
we were making love. you were wet sun-storm calling moons.
i was every moon.
you had thighs. thighs so thighs i was Moses
wandering in the lava fields
of new islands.

my hands were everywhere.

you said things that lived too much and died a little.
so did i.

you held my breath to save me the trouble
of Aaaaah.
nosipho Aug 2012
Lost in daze, even though this path I have played,
it sat as a record in my mind, played over and over again
and I knew what to do,
my thinking, my actions, yes i will be ready
the minute i cross that road.



I have watched Cinderella leave her shoe,
O’ what love for a prince to find,
To send horses trotting to her doorstep,
Chariots and king’s man,
O Cinderella-happy ever after!

Aaaaah! It is wonderful.

At night I would have dreams about you Cinderella,
Being snow white, awakened by my prince,
And so I mastered the art to wait,
Yes, I will scrub floors, play with the dwarfs,
Singing my hearts tunes -knowing,
In a shining armour my prince will come,
And we will live happily ever after.
Like I have seen it in my mind.


So here I am, there, sitting -waiting,
Hearing the words as you are speaking,
The world I once thought was far,
Meeting with my reality and hush…

I am “There”

Be it that I be a Cinderella or a fairy,
The collision of reality makes to wish
That such fantasies were true,

And now that I am here, You prince you came.
With my shoes, in a shining armour,
But nothing like my fantasy.
I could blame you for not being the prince
I had in my dreams, how could you betray me!


I mean I love you but why is it not like I imagined!
I want to be rescued from a tower; I want horses to make a convoy!
I want birds to sing my happiness; I want flowers to sprout at my joy!
I want to grow wings and fly! That is how I know it!.
Why is not like shrek or fiona, or the Barbie or the princess in aladin!.


Marriage is holy,

Two people are joined in matrimony,
They become one to reflect his glory,
And the lord orchestrates it to reflect him,
O’ the angels blow their trumpets,
And the lord dances over the union with singing,
For then his image on earth is portrayed,
A covenant of eternity,
As that of his bride, as the groom.

However, On earth.

Frustrations grab our minds,
And we wonder if we right,
Is he the one! Did we go wrong!

You see when two become one,
All their flaws are exposed,
For no two people can be two in one,
Some trees need to fall,
The flesh is stretched for both,
The bone is taken with no anesthetic,

Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh,
You never know till you hit this road,
Happily ever after, but not mention- after what?

Because marriage is holy, some things are refined,
100% human 80% God, God works with no fractions,
See, in him we need to be whole,
for in the one lies a deeper purpose and
when these two come together, there might be a collision.
For marriage is holy and as one you are selfish,
but when two come together,
they are drawn to selflessness.

I can no longer eat the pizza alone, but think of my significant other,
Uhhh! No longer will live but need the care like my father.
Marriage is HARD!


You never know until you there,
The vinedresser prunes the branches, tweaking them slowly,
They fall to the ground, trampled.
For the purpose of matrimony is to make us like him.
Christ as the head joined to the Body,
The husband joined to the wife,
A beautiful gift that God gives to man!
Take me again, he says- be like Christ!

In marriage we are given an opportunity to reflect his glory,
To imitate his kindness, compassion and love,
To experience the intimacy that Christ has for us,
It is no longer about lifting our eyes to the sky,
But Christ comes as a groom to his bride,
He comes to share himself between husband and wife,
What gift it is, more than Cinderella or snow white and her dwarfs,
More than earthly treasures, it’s the beauty to share a life.


To our carnal minds, and fleshly ways,
Marriage is a ***** or a thorn,
And whatever joy it brings,
We know that Christ his grace he gives,
But we know that for his glory we love,
Each other, but together love him,
And happily we will leave,
In endurance of all things.
Marriage....Marriage is beautiful!

I never knew, I ‘am there’
M Clement Apr 2014
Aaaaah, ***** my side-ache
And ***** me inside

I left my mind back a couple of days ago,
I'm behind on the times

Football, Meetball, Youball, eyeball

Wordplay's for *******, and I'm oh so catty.

What's wrong with digestion?
And where's my humerus when I need it most?

I have little left to say to either you or I, but I'll keep talking so it looks like I'm halfway to a quarter of insanity.

I miss not touchés or is it touches?
Relationships, man.
What's the best of these and what's the worst of 'em?

Strap me to a bomb so my thoughts get exploded for all to see.

I never wanted to put you ahead of me,
and that's a lie.
Connor Jul 2015
The giants tongue swallows
Suns
/Constellations constant
down the knowledge throat
And Owl perched over velvet
Hollering at the neighborhood
Darklight nightlight window
Still life sillhouettes radiant behind
Metropolitan curtain series bleeding
NEON-

The OWL is receiving words
Back/forth the communal conversation
vibrating thru
tenements and telephone wires.
HootHOOT Italian Voicemail two in the morning
Beep tip & ZAP>>by doorway,
H o ot Hoo t deranged traffic
Menagerie metallic dance of silvery brass
windshield reflection/
Other owl beating wings on the wheel
to Debussy
While lakes become public fountains
and Oceans become wars.

Giants breath ***** up                        atmosphere,
Javelin to eyes
Everything                     ...                      escaping us
“THE INEVITABLE BLINDNESS OF MORNING”
Heavy matter on the soul/
Doomly sandman tossing flowers
down the aisle
during wedding for imaginations
weeping tears of JOY
!AT LONG LAST!
The apocalypse is no longer Faeries
and pamphlets
on the
                Elephants
                          doorstep.

Giants showering with hot water
And
Owls sweating/
Damp feathered
in front of the machinery at that heatwave
boiler room backyard.
The animals have been terrified of existing this way
(owned by our products)
Before commercials
And Cold War nuclear paranoia broadcast in
Ohio (Columbiana County)
                                                         ­                  Owls be dreamin' fevers!
(Dreamin' the commonly non understood methods of which the TV sets turn on, anyways)

Noah's Ark continental
engulfed by
                     the galaxy
and comets
                    --------JUST--------
                 ­    ---MISSING--
          -THE-
[[EARTH]]
(Boy, that one was close!)
The spaceship enthusiasts
with superspyglass
technology pointed at infinity
telling us that September
will be the END OF THINGS AS WE KNOW THEM
the Owls are sleeping in their nests
ticktocking
in whispers



......the answers
to the darkest parts of

<the man-woman-brain
the human-brain
the dumbo-brain
and goof-brain>

"Oceantide inward-
taking everything, even the gold"

Letting loose
giant discovery ******
to           M O O N
and         P L U TO
snapping picturephotographs
“Ooooooh!”
“Aaaaah!”
Trashing rockets/
projectiles capable of decimating
the
CORE
of
the
P.L.A.N.E.T
hundreds of times over
(Jesus Christ!!)
the owls are all too aware
of that
wacky-brain
primate deficiency
and packing their suitcases
to pocket realities
hidden beneath
                                                TREETRUNK­S

The giants
(us)
the blackhole of population
so deep so dark so quiet
nobody can see it coming
(a-million-lightyears-away-i-swear-it)



DON'T FORGET THAT
DOGS ARE AFRAID OF VACCUM CLEANERS
AND I THINK THEY'RE ON TO SOMETHING......
tricia lambert Oct 2011
See this gray dust
Swirling
It is the ground bones of ancestors

They are in my nostrils
And on my tongue
They congregate in my ears
Where they chatter lightheartedly
And beat their drums
In rhythms syncopated  
With my heartbeat
Oh yes, my blood recognizes that tattoo

They clump under my toenails
And collect in the creases
Of my withering skin

If I sit long enough in one spot
They will engulf me
Cover me in a fine quiet shroud
I shall succumb to their insistence
And surrender without fuss

Soon enough
Sun shall crack me open
Desiccation shall be my lot
My bones will give back the light
Insidious lichens shall colonise me
Insects explore my crevices
Corroded, scoured by indifferent winds
I shall slump with a final sigh
No  body,  aaaaah

Then
I too shall blow about
On the breeze
I shall be no more
Than an irritating speck
In the eye of a grand child
Carrying  marigolds.



Tricia Lambert.    

On November 2nd, Dia de los muertos, Mexicans honour their ancestors and recently dead, with elaborate shrines in homes and public places. Families visit cemeteries, taking food and flowers, noticeably marigolds, and the celebrations are loud and long.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
the far right, the far left,
the alt. right, the progressive left,
the regressive right...

basically an ****** of nouns:
a geyser of prefixes and
whatever suffixes...

trans-exclusionary-radical-feminist...
cis-man...
me­taphysics, alfred jarry
and pata-physics...

hopefully some mention
of ORTHO-graphy...
hard rock... boomer rocker...
a rocking chair...

sides of the waves...
the non-existent natural sculptor...
graveyards as
museums al fresco...
post- "the original sculptor"...

indie right...
googlewhacks?
bothersome hillbilly scam: 16,100 results
locus operandi...
modus operandi...
locus standi...
squat biggerbrain: 3,740 results...
onomatopoeia lombard: 45,600 results...
merovingian golem: 25,700 results...
oh look...
getting close:
⠉⠽⠎⠞ gush: 38 results...
⠉⠽⠎⠞ pataphysics: 5 results...
fingshuan: 9 results...
llyopod ligament tree: 4 results...
lobotomy molotov: 79,000 results...
tref zappa tick tock: 5 results...
trad trap zappa loco: 8 results...
myxedema orpheus: 9,030 results...
myopiacharon: 7 results...
janejeanjacketpuke: 10 results...
(stones in his pockets)
mariejones does *******: 4 results...

epitaphs are maxims: cueue debate...
perhaps more...
chiselching in beijing: 6 results...

⠝          
ⰏmⰑoⰓrⰗFⰅeⰖuⰔs
ל ******* gnat!
sticks to you like a...
nomad sort of letter it's supposed
to be...
******* hitch-hiker...
hitchens et al... atheists etc....
sure... when all the "gentile" gods are
dead... the hebrew degradation of
a demigod will be...
the pulpit and the prayer
and i'm somehow supposed
to "mind"...
etymology bonanza loop: 62,000 results...
dymitra z goraja chleb: 1,680 results...
libero felicjan zach: 902 results...
belz bełz: 17,100 results...
kogelmogel harasho: 124 results...
kogelmogel haraшo: 5 results
чekam na "чat"... чatem - 6 results...
"burden boris with a password"...
chequers cheese and cyrillic: 5 results...
what?!
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc: 4 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc gag... 4 results...
after tabernackle... turbanknuckle...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc esq. = 3 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋ = 2 results...
nearing a googlewhack...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ blue =
2 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ ж =
2 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ ж 6 carboxylic:
3 results...
ah... loan words...
equers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ ж 6 carboxylic cymes...
2 results... weekend after carboxylic? 3 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ ж 6 carboxylic хoць:
5 results...

щur gnat: 2 results...
AAAAAH! FOUND ONE!
googlewhack:

щur gnat seq...
https://tinyurl.com/qo3z5km
i knew i'd get one...
i was just hoping it would come...
more or less circa 1am than...
2am... but as Leibniz pointer out:
even if this be the best of all possible worlds...
it's hardly accustomed to
OCD fanatics and those...
quasi-... what do you call them?
i forgot...
if i really minded wanting a ****...
i'd have treated not minding it
in my 20s like some sort of disability...
thank **** that i had
two outlets... a kantian sense of "hobby"...
and access to a brothel...
if you tied me up with but one
drunk irish girl in the vicinity of
goodmayes...
i would still want my dreams
of my great-grandfather back...
in "reality" he remained a ghost figure...
and i have his remains in my mind...
his apparently pristine set of teeth...
how many times did i dream of teeth?
i can't remember...

but i frequent the slow parts of the night...
with dreams of teeth...

my my... just lookat m'ah pearlies!

well... щur: it's szczur... ivoke
a caron above the S and C to hide the ZZ:snooze...
and you... evidently... have yourself...
a rat... gnat? gnat or vermin?
seq. that really does depend...
on what you're "looking" for"
ex genesis...
well... ex nunc / ex iam... etc.

boris brejcha: art of minimal techno tripping
the mad doctor by RTTWLR was my date...
for this... evening...
*** and pistons...
but i wouldn't mind that...
"sad loner" would still rather
listen to those macaques monkeys
in kenya...
up on a tree...
up north...
i pray you stay up into the night...
to hear a crow croak in the night...
it's such a rare event...
i'll beg you...
to hear but one insomnia riddled bird
in the night...
in the night: you will not hear a sparrow...
you ill not hear a pigeon...
birds... birds are very hygienic
in terms of encrusting sleeping patterns
at part of a translation of cognitive health...

stay up all night with me...
replace the wolves with foxes...
and wait with me... for the crows' croaking...
that complete absence of human activity...
and chain yourself with me...
who seem to dream while awake...
who can only dream when everyone else
around them has to be sleeping.
tricia lambert Jun 2013
See this gray dust
swirling
It is the ground bones of ancestors

They are in my nostrils
and on my tongue
They congregate in my ears
where they chatter lightheartedly
and beat their drums
in rhythms syncopated  
with my heartbeat

Oh yes, my blood recognizes that tattoo

They clump under my toenails
and collect in the creases
of my withering skin

If I sit long enough in one spot
they will engulf me
cover me in a fine quiet shroud

I shall succumb to their insistence
and surrender without fuss

Soon enough
sun shall crack me open
Desiccation shall be my lot

My bones will give back the light
Insidious lichens shall colonise me
Insects explore my crevices

Corroded scoured
by indifferent winds
I shall slump with a final sigh
No  
body  
Aaaaah

Then
I too shall blow about
on the breeze

I shall be no more
than an irritating speck
in the eye of a grandchild
carrying  marigolds.




Tricia Lambert.
On November 2nd, The Day of the Dead, Mexicans honour their ancestors and recently dead, with elaborate shrines in homes and public places. Families visit cemeteries, taking food and flowers, mostly orange marigolds, and the celebrations are loud and long, with bells, bands, and fireworks.
Neil T Weakley Nov 2013
A desert night almost as far
from the sun as California can be.
My breath visible in the post midnight air.
I drive north to be closer to the heavens.
Traffic winds slowly upward, a giant, glowing red snake
seeking higher ground.
I find a place to pull off, breaking the daisy chain of cars
looking for a better point of vantage.
Standing in the chill air I didn't think I'd be warm enough,
but soon I wouldn't notice temperature.
Above me, I see the powder of the Milky Way
dusting the night sky.
Nothing else at first, but then - there!
A light, like a flare, but with a tail...like the trail of a roman candle.
Then another, and another - Oooo! Aaaaah! Ooohhh!
It's the Fourth of July in November.
Then it gets good.
The sky opens up a cauldron of molten steel,
sparks spilling over the side onto the earth.
It's ablaze in a fiery rain, trails of white-hot magic
shine and sparkle behind their bright leader, then slowly fade away,
another in its' place before the last is gone.
Never before have I seen the heavens give forth their spoils so generously.
It's as if the Gods were having a clearance sale on wishes, 'Everything must go!'
There's enough to go around.
Stunned and spellbound, I imagine how it must look in the atmosphere,
then I'm suddenly aware of both my insignificance
and my potential importance in the universe.
I am nothing, yet, such a phenomenal display is created
by mere particles hitting earths atmosphere,
so small, so magnificent.
I am awed, I am hopeful, I am alive.
The Gram sir,
polygonal father firefly
stand in Cibatus ...
thread and thread form light.

In the year 1300
miliérnaga great night,
the Lucibatus provoke a detritment an *****
He fell back to Cibatus
And her delicate body broke into two parts...

In the center was in "A";
Her two columns
Stumble down at the head of Mr. Gram.

He in the compartment,
The pulverized seeds scraped
Galloping ice that undermined the Cibatus
The year in 1200,
Oh syllogism much light!
You coordinate the central hole Cibatus basket;
gramineous navel dim oracle
Coming through the middle,
Dodona River as light.


In the center of barley,
Mr. Gram healed their wounds;
Fecracia corpuscles,
Major ***** Susea ...
that ruled with all his power by blizzards.

"Not Cibatus or broken,
traditional custom was broken by wind
and not by Light gram "

In the dark night of San Corinth,
It fell night where Mr. Gram asleep ...
happy told the fierfly
your damage would not alter its sun.

Toward the end of the day,
He said his greatest roar...
Their wings hawked loose
Cibatus noise pain!

Lat night came,
and invisible, transparent body
wanted spring,
Love this protozoan
Cibatus alone.

Farewell  said fierfly in 1300,
when it fell by the protozoan crag ...
Signs metal birds
They said ...; Aaaah ..!
and noise Gram God,
They said! Aaaaah ... Aaah ...!

Nor no hugs or charity,
the rough particle spring circle
flierfly donated the ***** ...
Limestone Road
He loved the feet of ash,
white bodies laughed
and they transmuted his absent body.

Flierfly he opened his eyes...
Cibatus looked at his winged whistling song:
" Fly Fierfly,
stretch your threads;
Mr. Whiskers love Gram ...
buried next to the root of Cibatus "

Farewell Thousand Three Hundred ... !



JOSÉ LUIS  CARREÑO TRONCOSO
10 to 11 July 1995.
MDIEVAL CONJURE BARLEY
Dave Robertson Feb 2022
Aaaaah!
Understand that every thought you had
about adults knowing what they’re doing
rapidly disappears when you become one

So even the plush ******
sat at the Romanesque desk
preaching complex reasons and threats
…because?
is hideously full of ****

When the best toy is being threatened
in kindergarten, the fattest egos flex
and either with aggression
or diseased crocodile tears
will appeal or impel.

Well. Here we are.
Men get old, even me.
But unlike cheese or wine,
it is not fine, virile,
or true.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
in english slang: you're a bit of a ***;
hence not holy water in russian orthodox,
but holy fool.

and as david bowie according to w.h. auden saying
'he became his admirers,' i too, but i don't care for admirers,
i have this strange affinity with alcohol,
i'm morose dirge clipping  in the night,
but during the day, i speak variations
of peacock onomatopoeias to cats
and laugh a dry fox's laugh
that insists on operatic regurgitated phlegm
for ointment for a vehement approach
to the sung piece of work:
much of our cognitive faculties are
based upon translating optically phonetic
symbols into action, unlike gob-gagging-droop
of seeing the creases (kreskówki, crayon drawings)
of colour upon colour, supra-colours of fantasy
that leave us speaking very little,
much is designated for the ah, within the framework
of dentistry's 'say ah...' aaaaah... good, not the filing
and implants. i lied, there are actually two
aesthetic phonetic units among actual diacritical
units in the polish alphabet: ó (u) and ż (rz, e.g. rzeka / river)
ę and ą are imitable by crouching with the knee bend
of the vowels - still the russians choke the joke:
'polish is all sh sh sz sh sh sz sh sz,' *no tak, i szczepta soli
/
a pinch of salt.
and when i die, and die i shall, i want the shamanic winds
to turn me into deer and foxes, my greatest patrons
of the senses - and if i die in my sleep, i will never rest
for having the opportunity of looking death in the face
stolen from me; how many painful blinks it might take,
death conscious than death in my sleep.
Tawanda Mulalu Aug 2017
Poems, bars: people, stars
Eyes lookin' Life on Mars
Boy wonder looks at mirror- Blackstar
Boy wonder looks at mirror- Blackstar
No time for jokers cause I keep it Nightwing
Fly 'til early morning, next day, coda, swinging
Pendulum, swift; please acknowledge the kid,
even though he skinny like Syd
What a future: even if it Odd
Grimace in my face like I'm General Zod
But I keep it Clark Kent with the moral sentiment
Merriment when I'm flying over all Metropolis
Heaven sent? God bless. Still stressed.
Still flex. Morning breath. Kinda fresh
I guess with your skin under your dress-
aaaaah, where was I again?
Are we having fun anymore?
Not really? We still friends?
I'm sorry we not talking anymore.

Sorry, who are you?

Voice to void to void the void
annoyed but buoyed by white noise
helps to take the fact that there no point
as given, what difference with man with boy

he toys with himself with eyes closed
eyes opened: it's the same, she broiled
and her breath fuzzed like... white noise
fizz-fizz, hiss-kiss.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
sure, i collected the led zeppelin oeuvre...
but black sabbath's song solitude:
which i plaid to a girl, and she said:
i didn't know you plaid country...
oh **** me... it's like i know anything
at anyhow of the time, current,
right now...
    what about the immigrant song?
   curly furly... wizard of oz type
of dark auburn creature in the form of
darkness darkness via
robert plant?
         frizzy... frizzy.... frizzy *******
giraffes?!
            had 'em boinking along
with success compared to the white rhinos,
with, or without
the monarchical propaganda
of a...  'enry... never to be the IX.
***** nilly has secured the third,
in terms of the passing of time...
                        stature...
           can't exactly beat the mystique
of eddie the confessor...
sorry... no...
  i might write poetry...
but i'm a drummer in a state of hubris...
rhythm?
        theft of my soul...
half an hour to 7 in the morning?
whiskey in hand, sunglasses on the tip
of my protruding cartilage of
a nose...
             groovy... more boogie nights...
ah ah... castrato! staying aaaaliiiiiiiiiiiive!
aaaaah ha! ha ha! aaaaah ha!
seriously a ball-breaker...
or testicles missing, in general...

but as i expected people to behave:
quick on complaints...
quick on the pontius pilate type of
gestures...
         wash my hands clean of the affair...
but then institute the mea culpa
concept...
               and recant.
- it's a bit too, too loo, too late to
call what happened,
on golgotha, anything but
    a diarrhoea of implementing justice...

           since... at this point...
you point the finger?
   i'll punch myself...
relieving you of...
  what could possibly happen
to your point & posit...

all i really wanted was to wrestle
with an Alsatian hound...
or a Rottweiler: with that fat cranium...
i guess some men...
are shackled to a daydream
of a ******* with two pornstars...

i remember being asked by a *******...
do you want to have a *******?
and i remember my reply:
not really... you're plenty, already.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
you... you really don't come
against these men,
with self-help restrictions
on *******...
   simply, because, why?
a pregnant woman *******
will find enough viewership
compared to one man
doing a slacker's ***** scene...
you want to give these men
up to castrato ergonomics,
without giving them a harem
or an operatic status?
      if you don't have what you like...
you begin to like,
  what you have...
    and if it's a hand
entombed in imitation
****...
   then you go along with it...
    you watch one mediocre ****
movie...
then revert to instilled ****
of an equivalence of a magazine...
      the more soft-core you go...
the more south-paw you become...
write with the right hand,
******* with your left hand...
or sit on your right hand
for half an hour, wait for the numbing
effect...
  and conjure a succubus...
because women jerking off
is no problem...
but when a man does it?
hell! no videos!
                  but someone like
a canadian psychologists...
oh wait... psychologists
have no no psychiatric authority
to prescribe drugs / mingle
with the pharmacological community?
so...
       what's with the talking?
might as well ensure the full potency
of the transgender movement...
instead of making me castrato
of the vatican library of psalms,
make me the gatekeeper to what
would otherwise be a *****,
in a Arabian harem...
                **** **** ****!
yeah... but no bulgarian ***** would
do that to me...
  she'd oil up with ****** cream
on the *****...
   unlike that Boer south african lass
with a dry 'un...
               oysters... minus
the lemon juice gulped down...
"alt right"... women are good
for jerking off... walking ******
like pinl floyd's hammer march
for another brick in the wall...
but men doing it?
                  b'aaaah b'aaaaah bad!
fair enough... but the base case
of ownership...
    petting cats is already tedious,
dogs rank 2nd...
  women? rank 1st...
                  if it is unusual to receive
compliments, attention,
a benevolent format of subscription
for a later date of impacting
the intact relationship?
             no... not really...
rather lick a ******* hot light bulb
and pretend to be
    transmitting a genius idea...
when there isn't one...
             i love the idea of woman...
from primary school,
through secondary school,
and in the odd instance of university...
but outside of said schematic?
this photogenic wedding endeavor?
      any sour apples?
     piquant types...
              neon green granny smiths?
god, i'd love to...
        but...
             sometimes in one's life
there are things akin
to the great wall of Hoisin...

                and i'm not really into virgins,
or the 20th part of sloppy seconds
either...
  unless within the confines
of transparency of a brothel...
    she can be as much of a *****
as she is...
   but when a lie is posited
on the chessboard of the architecture
of relationships?
      
                don't bother;
it's an ingrained defiance -
      to what was already defined
in poetic terms...
   as the Satanic lie -
   man? sinless -
                primordial burden, without
a scathe...
              a lie has the potency
        to become worse than homicide...

as i've learned...
when a woman doesn't love you,
she lies...
   she entices with entrapment...
   and when you're not enticed,
dumb, fooled,
auxiliary methodology is employed...
you private life...
   is somehow... questionable
by third parties...
   of people you once considered
to be friends...
            but that's beside the point...
you return to the mantra
encompassing the entirety of
humanity with 2 words:

plow along...
            plow along...
          
     within the same instance...
of a world... so large and unbecoming...
shrinking to your narrative...
focusing on an eye of a needle.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
isn't this what, intergration, proper, should look like?
some people adorn themselves in vague tattoos,
me? working from the crux of dasein,
i too have to tattoo myself,
              cognitively...
        
                     ever since i can remember...
it had to be the turks besieging Vienna when
the defenders of christendom took charge
against them, the winged hussars of
the polish-lithuanian commonwealth...

         but prior? did not the Polen defend their
commonwealth with the pagan Lithuanians
against the Teutons in its summation,
culminating in the battle of Grunwald of 1410
(a battle in the east, akin in magnitude
to the battle of Hastings of 1066),
         poet, or an overlord of historians'
"amnesia"; a history, a memory,
a revival...
             who the hell even follows the modern
poetic ******* of high school children
being whipped into submission
regarding: measure, "meaning", "sub-meaning",
taunting ***-bits, metaphors...
if you only look at the ancients' style,
Horace, Ovid, Virgil...
      there's a narrative at play,
            the narrator play the role
of protagonist, there are no phantom non-existent
characters, there is not puppeteering...
there are over-stretches of narrative,
that interchanges between dialogue and
monologue,
        as ever: poetry, not philosophy,
is the uninhibited art of retrospection,
of introspection, notably... while drinking...
sober minds can deal with philosophy,
with "questions", with "problems",
with "solutions"...

                i just want to spew,
i came here to regurgitate...
        and what does it matter if i appreciate
homosexual literature akin to william burroughs...
i still, much prefer,
homosexuality in reverse, i.e.: taking a ****...
i'll even downgrade the male ****** to
a tier below, taking a ****,
and most surely below a tier of pleasure
arrived at: taking a ****...
women derive all the ****** pleasure
of the two sexes... hence...
the desperate need to import african walking
****** for their canvas of unsatified needs!
if a ***** doesn't do justice...
   import a bunch of african play things...
me? bitter? of just painfully honest?
     there's a difference...
           like... i do admire the polyglots...
they're like yews (jews, via yiddish)...
they never really settle in any culture,
or said culture's norms...
                        **** me, aren't i in frenzy
of creativity... thank god i'm not one of these
youtube news vulture journalism commentators...
i esp. like the kind of **** that
takes three attempts to give birth to it...
i call that the tapeworm escapade...
shy ******... wants to, but doesn't want to,
want's to, but doesn't want to,
so i have to ease my ****,
   ******* to some still **** material:
ploop! frog's in the water... aaaaah!
          - ha... i wrote that... that's ******* funny...
but old school poetics...
  conversational overtones...
no bother regarding: "techniques" or god
forbid rhyme...
                        it's the running joke against
poetics these days: roses are red,
violets are blue... and a greeting card...
while... safe to say... fiction? these days?
complex characters... sure...
as they must be... but the narrator?
                                 dim-****-wit.

again, i wouldn't have returned to "identity" politics,
if only, if only the trans-gender clowns
didn't attack and dictate grammar...
               i don't like being dictated false
grammar, false biology i can entertain:
sure sure, have your thing...
           but, grammar? you attack grammar,
you call for the antithesis of the effort i made
into integrating into this language!
     *******: learn a foreign language yourself!
- and since i'm not a polyglot,
since i've dug a trench into this language
and its subsequent culture...
em... i have to celebrate its past...
           and that implies i will have integrated
to appreciate songs...
               e.g. chevalier,  mult estes guariz
   (french crusader song),
or...
          da pacem domine (templar chant)...
salve regina (hospitalier chant)...
                  hell, the flag changed...
it's no longer white on top of white...
now it's a red cross on white...

how else was i going to integrate?
into this, current, western,
   pseudo-socialist cosmopolitanism?
because that's what it is...
       pseudo-socialist cosmopolitanism...
how many times must i say it?
social, does work, but only in exceptional
circumstances...
     there was only one, Poland...
      Syria might be the next one...
   it works, for a constricted amount of time...
3 generations... in a country...
that has nothing to begin with...
          i.e. is war-torn...
           either socialism, or the Marshall Plan...
which, of course, Poland didn't receive any of...
but Sweden did (neutral),
    as did Switzerland (also, neutral)...
it worked... because it was allowed to work
with the ambition that it would fizzle
out, as it did...
             socialism is a decent model
in times of exceptional circumstances...
as a rebuilding socio-economic mechanism,
and nothing more!
              i can't imagine the Syrians wanting
foreigners toying around with rebuilding
their economy...
                      that sad side of global affairs...
but like my favorite quote from recent years,
regarding me being a foreigner,
"stealing" the language skills of natives...
       kevin spacey: well... i'm not exactly going
to, *******, am i?

   below?
         an abstract schematic i devised
                                solving a su doku puzzle...      


/     _                           | | |
             x                       _        
               | | |                       +
           _ _                     | | |  
                      x             _ _ _        
            | | |                      +
       _ _ _                      | | |
                  +                     x           \

— The End —