in love with the sign language i taught myself: wave, and then extend your *******... it's called a hang-job in signlanguage; it's like waving a goodbye, with the goodbye being more a ****-off, than a goodbye: god give me better grace, i love the shake of the hand as if jerking off, and subsequently the extended ******* to add the compliment; ****! it almost feels like the welsh V!

i know how it feels being an "illegal" immigrant,
second time round though?
   legal as a kite, or a yellow submarine,
but that's beside the point, as i told my father
today: you've seen the state of english
these days? these acronyms and the middle
class favouritism of emojis?
you've seen it? this is a language?!
these are covert methods to prevent people
from learning computing code!
**** em, someone has to shove em,
kick em up their lazy **** *****!
           work you cunty *** sleazes!
work! what? not congregating on
the monasteries? imagine me as a rabid
dog, owned by henry viii, about to chew
off your leg!
   ****** thinks i'm not "properly" integrated...
so why is it, that i know english language
better than your ****** populace?!
riddle me that, all day, from monday through
to sunday, and the irish bank holiday,
a ****** like me loves a bit of
riverdance on the sly...
       so?
                hello?!
                   so you gonna ******* do it,
or retreat into your lil 'obbit 'ole?
******* *******...
         no wonder the i.r.a. gave up:
who gives a toss about fighting transvestite
***** after 20+ odd years...
even the spies were like: you will not
find me engaging in this sort of *****
for the next 'undred years...
   i'll genuflect st. paddy's shamrock
and call it jewish twice over,
than behave like those, ******* perverts
of the ęnglischspreschen* -
and that's what you call fishing,
my mired youngling.
i tol my papa: ******* keepin' wit'
the times?!
    look at 'em... ugly 'n' "spontaneous"
like the ******* elephant man...
         ooh: goonah fly an eff off wit a kyt...
like **** you yo will...
     fly me a yorkshire spud 'stead 'irst...
you ******* dartford dodger....
       said the 'ackney lass...
see: i speak more english than the 'acking
english....
     it's about akin to 'eaching poker:
you learn the cockers:
you learn the:
                   two doors down luv,
and if ders no shlang for that 'ort of phrase:
there ****** ought to be, next week:
    ya 'acking cockney 'onker!
now i feel like a right *******...
         or like i really need a propah
jerking off... which is y means that
it can only be
answered in jai jai, or the slip of tongue
on led zeppelin's d'yer mak'er, as
the scots 'aid - druid in make-em mon -
   what's that, maca ******* roons?
       tall order, for slanging off almonds,
****, 'et's toast 'em,
           ******* were never gonna
          learn the ******* bagpipes anyway
just tell 'em to learn the dog whistle,
or the orchestra's triangle.

Many a tales held in tis heart
Yet tis not a story out of a writers thought
A day the sun burned its best
I stop for a drink my back acking to rest
Ere I saw a scene played by GOd
A Friendship between a boy and  dog.

Dressed in cloths a needle cannot mend
To beg for money his masters did send
His arms feeble and hairs brown
A cry for help in hunger to drown
Seeketh he the money for food
A few refused and some gave for good

The hunger in him burnt with will
His cries sought for a stomach to fill
Tempers soared as strangers never let go
An irate man poised for a blow
Words of hatred and abuse loud
None to stop , the boy stood his ground

Out from nowhere a loud bark
The boy’s face lighted with spark
The stranger let his hand low
Words of abuse stopped to flow
A mangy mutt wild with hairs white
Many a battle scars in street fight

Snarling teeth of the protecting friend
strangers backed and the war did end
Hugging his friend the boy walked away
Tis heart had words. yet tears spoke that day
Tales of love and friendship written in sand
Yet the Friends of the street bound by natures hand

that particular moment in time
when a phenomenon
slyly becomes a noumenon
and subsequently becomes
a phenomenon
(retraction)...
akin to
jaclynglenn's
video
the downfall of social
media:
and i too,
do not read
the printed press...
because...
who would have
thought that...
journalists
could be jumbled
up with politicians
these days...
but the stage is set...
the day has come...
the phenomenon
of the neo-video
the reiterated
emphasis of
the πράγμα
    σε μηχανήματα:
deus ex machina,
composed via
**** in machina,
into:
    machina est machina...
funny...
i hear no chimes,
nor any cha-cha-cha...
but...
the once phenomenon
worthy
stumbles against
the noumenon...
and the ping-pong
that is echoed?
well...
no one "thought"
of any of "that" either,
did they?
             while i am
busying myself with
playing gardener for
the trim's worth of a beard...
no tulips or roses 'ere...
i like to spot
an explosion-implosion-
scuttle-hiccup-woe
dynamic...
i.e.
there was,
an original implosion
to begin with...
the explosion
was readily available...
i once retracted from:
deus ex machina,
onto:
**** ex machina...
onto:
machina est machina...
it's hard enough attempting
to bury your
shadow,
far more entrenching
to have to also
gravitate
around minding either
face, tongue, or d.n.a...
but a phenomenon:
an explosion,
coinciding with
the noumenon:
an implosion,
and then...
"somehow",
able, to, reintegrate itself
to the phenomenon,
via having
been made focus,
or a noumenon
scrutiny?
sooner i die
a hundred times...
than succumb to this
prodigy nuance
of paralysis of
the parable of:
           statistics...
no one is going to wake
up from
the snowball (effect)
of a phenomenon,
to be of market worth
of a "relapse"
of a phenomenon...
of equal number count...

no, baby...
not when you come across
the nouemenon...
or not the A.I.,
or not the res per se...

  17th - 20th century
continental philosophy
is worth ****...
yeah... like the english tongue...
all i ever wanted to use
it for was: ****,
****.... and...
                    ****.

come the blitßkrieg like
a Himmler or a
Hindenburg *******
dyßaßter!

   ****:                 ...oops!
was i ever to be
a bystander,
like the Yorshire
Terry?
              woz i's eve'?

c'uld 'ave 'ad it
'n' a Glaswegian
sock-it
           *****...
for whatever worth was
to come from...
schlang...

'acking gypsy worth
a riddle of a roma
'aking standard,
the bargain for a tartan...
but i ebb
toward
the: are the sport
of tipping for a tat'n'too
a precursor of
meal-a-tail-of-ill-and-'om-meend?
i.e. you tattoo you
got a forking
in the tooth, eh mate?
like: Barry Madonna...
like...
whistle for the ****'s
worth of a harmonica?

oh i ain't blatant:
but you are...
i'm 'ucking covert...
cockney...
fake...
    like:
  i will better fake
what you have in *******
vinyl!
gitty-up or no go?

orthodox ping-pong
rubric goes:
yes, there was a phenomenon
of the democratic
*******...
came across the A.I.
noumenon...
came out...
eh...
                 scarred
            pseudo-phenomenon
reconquista...

and thank **** i was neither...
nothing quiet compares,
though...
pork oven poked...
to suffocate from
a grill...
and... yes...
beef...
           stinking meat...
for the holy hindu's worth of:
mama smoking the ***
off a semi-skimmed
glug's worth...
  no... pork: oven...
y'us...
  beef: oven?
         can i poach some mutton
n'steph?

Just thought of what I feel that
Each person reading my ink
All together may be envious
Lacking the temperament of thought
Of that mine is as good as theirs
Under a spotlight I may be lacking
S*o I ponder, yes not so well spelt with flow
Y*et I linger in the thought that mine is .............

I'm not a poet... just a blah-blah machine... intellectual stuttering does involve: searching for... the best choice of words: which do not necessarily add, toward a nomination of intellectual girth... delayed stature... a Pole, like Jew, is more himself in exile, than with a stubborn claim of "origin", or rather, past... a people who have truly understood themselves, among themselves, are the ones without a heritage of a land... which is an ultra-form of democracy: the people have already spoken... the people, having no obligation for: a people... have no necessity for: a land... the Germans are infants in this line of argument, given: der VOLK... 2nd nomadic participation of a secularised people are the Poles... least because the most vocal among the throng of Lithuanians, Estonians and Latvians... grind teeth and say Crimea is not Ukrainian... where land and people are synonymous, in development.

it's sometimes hard to envision the democratised voice as not being either: too personally "impractical", or too "impersonally" practical; of which, politicians fall into the latter category... hence democrscy's shadow dictator, known as the status quo... mind you... even Sisyphus wasn't allocated the task of moving an unmoveable stone... that being said, i feel no need to bask in some intellectual tectonic shift observation, as this is, quite simply, the most unnecessary allocation of words that, needless to say, are said, without encompassing a motivation for any subsequent dynamo expression... lazily rolling a cigarette as precursor, and... a serpentine of rattling skeletons like playing a magician's, xylophone.

       a cold shot of 100ml of żołądkowa gorzka, followed by a rolled sweet Virginia tobacco cigarette... and a walk in a park... high spring scents... and that perfect companion readied for mirror and introversion: there are two, shadow at my most nihilistic, and "loneliness"... at my zenith, which is a gratitude, resembling the closest excavation of the truth bound to carpe diem: a sunset... was it ever going to be a day worth
completing?

     the conundrum of a stiff 5am wake up call,
   some would call it, a stretch of the imagination
to craft a pivot on, that might realise a continuum...
    closer to the heart an empty stomach,
than a claustrophobic mind...
    for once in my life I imagine people
who find thinking unbearable,
   trying to measure their ails in the ethereal,
dissecting the mind entwined with
the soul, or what some would argue is
the sigma of the mechanisation of
the body... nibbling at love from
the unconscious rhythm of the heart,
prodding at desynchronised patterns,
aches of loving bound to
a scaffold without an executioner:
other than oneself...
      perpetually seeking a biography
spanning but two weeks,
    of Nabokov's counter-lollipop-16
frizz in goosebumps...
     my... am I so sterile as to dream-up
a cougar on a leash?!
                 porcelain beauty
before the altar of a bull and
the infuriating moorish -sculinity...
porcelain youth,
    hybrid came the minotaur...
somehow archetypes are stiff
as the introduction of the god
Solipssus into the parthenon...

   un-*******-believable:
    Fraiser's concept of self
some greenish 'reesh 'nome -
  can we do away with the surd letters?
there aren't that many after all,
given the english are famously
tingue-numb vowel impersonating
consonant "grievers' wounds"...
        'ockney 'acking 'ockney,
and some dame off her frrrrr'ah
  ick'ing         'ockers!
       hmm.... súm!
     anything to get past
old riveriera, *** Sinatra...  
   *** martini super dry with
a dupper-uber wet:
    snout of a mole in the caverns of
finding false teeth and
dangling ding-**** virginity...

in a brothel 'ardly the cherry picker...
if you've never been...
   you've never been,
                  and s much can be said
about that...
       what do you call an Arabian
leech?
        a minor European with a taste
for Bulgarian seconds...
   but of course, that white....
  dress is because we all took to
replica monogamy of certain animals
seriously...
          but that weight of
a ring finger,
     has me itching for the down-trodden
being mawled in my mouth
to later constitute pet food,
   almost seems familiar,
but not quiet,
    came those seeking fire and
were vigour prone,
came the necromancer and
tried to raise the dead,
before the living priesthood
began talking with the lead tongue
of mammon...

     the ones who do not monetary
authenticity in the following coins:
a pence, a two pence, ten, twenty,
fifty... perhaps a quid...
     a snippet of royal metal...
   why wham! and not aha!
                               ?
too much, eureka connotations?
bewildering, like 500ml bottle of *****
in Poland, and 25ml "shots" in England...
**** first of puke blood prior to
taking a ****?
        dunno! hence the tycoon
bonanza!
   a bit like asking a pirate parrot
for a quote only by pulling out
one of its feathers... to get the...
    mechanical parts: geared up to
Cucklington.... and that is by no means
a place i can associate, either drunk,
or sober.

   how the hell do people even find
the diem or the motive behind it,
to craft the sort of "1 + 1 = 2"
   momentum, that becomes carpe diem?!
I heard some say (well, I thought it
through):
     dzień ma zbyt wield małych "trosk" - - - - -
(wyroków by zważać na innych...
       tzn. rz pirdole skolną
    ortografie bez autobiograficznego
  zaparcia na: NEIN!
  szambo szfedzkie...
     wiwat!
                 F to finał...
  nad machaną rę(n)ką...
   czyli, tyczy to:
       wodą... e e e! goń ty sam
zza gównem...
                 pierdolonym Soviet
ma tylko bjet...
     bjet... ubogi nasz pan...
       twinie!
                     maciuk jet harciuk!
ble na nowo (Ь)
     i ble na start (Ъ)
                       to mi... kurwa... nowina!
- - - - - - - - - - - -
   (I lost the sense of paragraph
and punctuation)
       the world already knows
of those who shoved carpe diem
down the ***** of public figures,
and lived out
the motto of: carpe tutti...

  better english with none,
than Russian with.... pseudo
impressionism of diacritical marks
beside the geometrical
revisionists of the blank canvas...
    thing...
        nice post-Greek lettering,
shame about
the lack of... finesse...
           when teasing the third tier
of lieracy,
   spelling, grammar ****,
     punctuation, breathing ****,
and diacritical distinction:
**** thappy toad zee gwafrifrifritee!
B7LVARK...

         there is nothing grammatical
about spelling...
             there is simply an aesthetic
involved...
          an "orthography"...
minus the "grammar" Nazis comes...
   the people that say:
   I really don't see why literacy is a
necessary benchmark of education
for the sort of jobs,
    that really require nothing more
than consumer supervision of:
the minimum literacy of
reading advertisements...
         what else?
    if people are sour about an aesthetic
of the written word...
without concern for punctuation...
let alone diacritical application...

PEOPLE ARE SEMI-LITERATE...
     if grammar "nazis" exist,
then people are semi-literate...
   they equate thinking with speaking...
and then file "complaints"...
   as to how their thinking
diverges from speaking
because of sophistry,
    and how talking doesn't integrate
itself back into thinking
because of philosophy.

filozofia: zapał, i - las ~ zapałek.

I've seen carpe diem exhausted
on the shoulders of the routines
of retirees;
    better the life akin to the thrills
of a doormouse,
  or an intellectual,
than some, mythical Taj Mahal of
orgams, reduced,
   into a pale lighthouse insignia
of violent purple, namely black,
masquerading white,
in a sober, en masse, funeral yawn
grey.

   this can only become a "difficult"
reading, something that always seems
to excavate: primo uno...
     and nein auf omega...
   not as an insult this... "thing"
concerning a semi-literate people,
just concerning the people:
who have been taught to read
in order to "read enough"...
   and how much of that is focused
on punctuation?

       tilde contra macron.
just an idea of fathoming pause,
and the comma, ' from above...
     e.g.
                  czas ~ na mosty
   sound slightly different to
    czas - na mosty...

       in no defence and with no concern
for a rubric of populism,
   the half-forgotten:
  neue-punctuation: Saß...
              given the Oxford compound
of the attempt to break (-) away from
using shrapnel...

hence by "arrogant" claim concerning
the literacy of the genral populace...
these come as minor observations with
minor impetus being guaranteed
of populist dent...
          flimsy ******* gay
oops-e-daisy patchwork Adams sort
of reminders to begin a tomorrow
as brimming on: "resolve"...
   and above all: impetus!

      the men should join the army...
Bratislava quarter limbed voters
and the crab eating fetish
reaching its penultimate lap...
for some reason,
I haven't been given the Darwinian
drive,
   somehow lost with
the remainder of my inheritance,
ha ha! slumped into
a canvas remindful of a:
cinemagoers' jerking off screenplay.

it's raining, i outstretch my hand in an akimbo pose on a windowsill, capture some rain on the hand, and then, lick it off.

i always seem to word the world in better guise,
when i can encourage a minute or two,
faking being blind,
closed eyes, deaf or rather
  deafened by headphones,
       cackling, trying to make a hyrbid
of fox and hyena in me attempting
a shy laugh...
          i forget when my admiration
for ****** hair began...
probably after i neared November,
and own, started to agitate the wind,
i.e.it started to be brushed by it,
like a long-haired tangle....
          the oddity of experiencing
your ****** hair made real by the wind...
there are
the falcon sheds his wings
to dive for his prey...
                   as any angel might
to caste a magic of embodiment...
the falcon imitates
an arrow, slicing, thriving,
cutting through, reestablishing a
genesis... a let's begrudge an unnecessary
             beginning...
prior to wishing being a father,
prior to asking for a son,
prior to attaining a woman,
i am conscript of metaphor,
              i abhor the literalism
of an egyptian prince, comedy of
the overtly literal *******...
            what i hate deserves hating...
mort poetica is, not, an, answer!
             there was no talking serpent
to begin with,
  there was only your labouring poetry...
ever heard  of *nuance of joke?
   if making life difficult was your answer,
you pillock, numb-whit,
   fine! fine fine!
                        plonkers r us...
tragic!
                   our safe-haven of
class A hillbilly window-cleaners!
     Delboy is my new Goebbel Hoffhessen
trap of a treat...
you quasi cockney squat!
laugh all you want,
i wanna the bending of the 'nee -
                   surds g, anmd the k,
and then the pucker asks:
                w'ah wit dame cockney
                               n' the lost feather....
you playing me potters'?
                             'ucking bride to be
wishy-washy lost oasis mods...
         jerkers off in the trans fannies...
farking bunnies...
calls them the southern bunnies,
quips us better sorter than
the gimmick muzzies of herr mah mah med;
******* dollop of a plonker.
you get bistro nostalgic on me
i'll get holiday happy to be honest,
over hanover,
i know a german loving a gormnan
when i see 'un.
                  last time i told this tale
i was tying a string to a paper tail,
an aeroplane in the the form of
origami...
                    i'll **** one off,
if you ask me nicely, you
******* ire, shh shh,
gingerbread man's worth of a
******* celt pleading for both
ginger & luck...
flip a coin...
  call it a shamrock;
then demand less than the lesser
of all possibles lessened:
the perfectly poured pint
of Guinness... ye' *******
scab of waiting intervention...
   you f'acking kanyan scabbed
sun-stroked-mastering-
of a paint-brush...
       in aiming for a crumb
dedicated to a loaf.
         it's almost funny watching
commentators of today
being so dismissive of poetry
in biblical writing,
   their literal interpretation
of biblical verse is
beyond funny...
                 it's just plain sad,
before they make fun of
the language of an ancient egyptian
prince, i suggest they read
some words of
  ambiguity / poetry...
             who is not to write
imagery, in order to not gauge out
the eyes of readers?!

i cant's actually feel
my 4th knuckle  right on
my  orour right arms....
since in bulged...
        with me using against
a one punch
  crescendo on a
brick wall...
           that "should
have been your face...
       i almost feel
abadoned...
            being kept intact
with a ref. to a family...
there comes a grit,
and a believability...
  to ensure is kept:
                 sacrilegious....
like an obedience
to keep
  "prayer":
                   in nomine patris
              et filii et spiritus sancti...
and whatever your
little ******* asked "otherwise":
we sure as ****,
will, gauge your eyes out@;

death and justice is not,
a t.v. affair...
                   we do...
and what we do...
       is necessary...
             regarding what needs...
to be...
                     done....

savvy?

ever punch a brick-wall
so hard you felt your fourth
knuckle to a soft-pouch liver
synonym?

    course you 'aven't...
ya 'ucking ginger misfit "queer",
y'ah 'acking ginger brixton *****!
     queen calls it
a ******* moustache
   re-appropriation
             of the 19th / 18 century...
tells me:
    i just, i just might
play off fitting with
the suburbans...

            there's a *******
collective of "them"
involved?!
                  sign me up! queer sister!

can i play up
being a half decent
                  baker of goods?
oyu know...
         with a knuckle missing
cos of numbing via
punching a wall...
    sort of tailor,
i.e.       a: F'UCKING CHEF
AT YOUR LOCAL ROUNDABOUT
OUTLET... YES CHEF
HEIRARCHY *******?!
YES CHEF?!
              coooooooooooo
    -k minus the "-ing"(?)....
                      cook...
             well i mind to mind the intellect
of having to mind frying croissants...
    i love the motto
though:
                         i die...
         you die...
     i could do the "mundane"
jobs...
point beig:
                  why would i have
       to go to university for them?
         if there's an "alternative" univerese
for the explanation...
   why aren't you dead?
on the basis of a criminal focus
with, exchange, focusing on, "you"?
                  so why is there no cain-impetus
to "mind" "you", "minding", "me".  
come to think of it...
a bit of a waste of propagada
liastening to: send your kids to university
send your kids to university....
then again...
i die... i yawn...
               i suppose there's another day.

as fast paced as: not necessarily rhyming -
which is all that rap is...
talk quickly and mishap -
i take another refill:
arrogant sloth borrows me once more:
it must be something to
be born in westminster:
i tend to visions of the countryside...
i'll cover 10 miles in under 3 hours
and sweat to the point
where my tip of my trousers
at the belt height are drenched...
it's all about pacing and writing
to some music:
or better still... i start talking...
and the music comes in...
i'm still not rhyming nor detailing
any event of "poet"
as being "europe": a funnel for
squeezing in some ottomans
or some mongols...
the hordes of huns and germanic-
prior:
rubbing a history like it's
aladdin's lamp: there i'm also
rubbing a lamb with some
oil salt and rosemary...
perhaps i have an anemic language...
forever this pangs of
shortcomings:
to a reply:
        well what if i had to be
less of a beheading:
literally talking - lyrical...
not this encryptic: ego-cipher
bilingual "muddle":
as ever i forage for eyes and not
the ears...
i'm slow pacing:
she's over there gun glazing
and reshaping cotton into copper
into easily agitated listening:
a democracy of being left behind...
heaps of scraps:
whether metal or charon ligaments
and sinew...
i write nothing to elevate hearing:
sometimes i will burden myself
with technicalities
my own name is a technicality
of nouns under the hubric of:
tetragrammaton / ha-shem
         for some people...
  will i invoke the caron S
            or merely... delve into more
bilingual nightmares for
the tongue to endure...
seems i have my niche: prospect of
interest:
once more it's not about
the people it's about
grammatical technicalities...
and... you... really can't rap about
that sort of crap...
it must require leisure:
eyes crying or eyes bleeding...
and time beyond: beyond time of my
allowance for anything
to achieve a stature of: ripeness...
such that: in the immediacy of
composition: it's necessarily
mediocre - it's just agitating enough
to know it exists without
it being agitating enough
to be given a phonetic palette of
gurgling: rumble-rumble-oh...
a tongue that trills the R but can also
mimic the numbing tarantula bit R of
Woah-don... all Lone Escapee
not literally: the river that professes
a tide but not bulging at the seams
of a monsoon seasons...
it flows in... it flows out...
it's murky greyish matted zenith for
the eye to peer at...
            again: what's lost this
conversation was never started...
                all these nuances of "jealousy"
and of... limp-**** echo jolting...
it's forever a team-up
of shaking hands with my shadow...
perhaps from fear of "impotence" - aside, aside...
now this really is  relish:
a solipsistic exhibitionism model -
but at the same time:
skim reading into beauty:
that there is: always in traffic of...
let me allow this grand word an outlet:
democracy like in school
when we were told:
it's better to draw a straight line
with three coordinates...
       "just to make sure"...
          i see straights line all the time...
it only takes... from A through
to a B...
unless: the copernican veil:
it always has to become
so grand and devoid at the beginning
then so humble and hollow self
and minding the numbers
for: but reinviting the old
geocentric model for:
our drama of huddling by a fireplace...
orate me this...
i can't reach this focus group
attentiveness for entertaining crowds...
not this writing perhaps
escapes into fiction: but all that friction
i'm back... armed with an x-ray
of words and an oyster for
where the brain is supposedly at work...

- hyphenated new entry: supposedly
either verse of paragraph...
it's a telling sign that i've come to abhor
that i write... juxtapositions any
new tenures of the supposed unexpected...
it's still this inverted "claustrophobia"
of "verbiage":
now bounce... bounce *******
for the suffix -phobia...
to groove into details of:
how best to walk...

    for all the exotic details of
a well composed night... in that all of them
are detailed with people awaiting
hindering... talk of people and people
the gross misjudged inconvenience
of "individual"...

if i don't borrow some cyrillic
or some greek i'll become head from
a guillotine utilised as
canon fodder...
that's me... head limbo tongue
squiggling worm-esque:
now that language has an image
i can't talk briefly: i can't rap
and conjure fudge details
for the membrane...

i write as quickly as the eye deciphers
what can be: limitless
in literacy...
given... the priestly caste kept me
from this, apart, for so long...
i can... wait a little... borrow some blues...
but then by 34 years old
i'm this disgruntled stereotypical
loath... mein zunge ist nein neu...
i'm parrot-phrasing some:
Horace... conversation overtones:
because i hardly think it's necessary
to ingest a tongue through the ears...
sometimes it might require
an eye...

i start drinking i demand of myself:
to forget to blink...
and then... as that happens...
i hardly expect to find my own voice
trapped in giving democracy
for: flowers or bricks or ****-soiled
mattresses my own: echo... prince...
it's so impossible to:
an-ti-thesis...
                ff...           ff: thrist for...
                alTHough...

            V's up a welsh longbow man victory
salute... i look at the corner of
my room... it spells out a geometry of
Y...
         i look at a serpent's tongue...
Y slithers into my tongue...
i curse the sound of J...
in english...            it's beside a dryness
excvated...

now i feel inclined to be
the most workaholic...
the best performing plumber...
i want to be a daily post-office cue:
"anon" walking marathons to no end...
since the day:
the day that paper had to reach
for a route of the horses:
how they are still kept...
to saddle... but hardly... to be exploited
to work...

they... just... graze...
equestrian... in the english "freely available":
i've walked the routes where horses
****...
lucky for me... i have yet someone
arrived at a speeding porsche scenario...
to own... a horse...
but to never... sit in one...
at a gallop...

poland has cheaper details concerning
renting out horses...
and... for all the awe-sigh-pondering...
one would expect...
being able to... saddle up a horse
for prizing a gallop...
two heels digging into the torso
for a "gear change" bravado...

as it stands:
i'll go to either hungary of the czech republic
to take care of dentistry...
then i'll go horse riding in poland...
too little of me investing
in... yachts...
         then again... yachts...
or pedigree dogs... proper...
rottweilers or alsatians...
                and such legs as i have
to walk either genus...
        
not in england... though... these
animals
have been grazing long enough
you'd start thinking...
what if... we... re-painted all
those battle canvases...
with men having mounted...
bulls...
what if we replaced
all those horses
with the charge of men
adoring bulls...
and took to eating more horse-meat
than... these poor castrato beef
hulks...
what if?
it's only impossibly: what if... isn't it?

- such that i delude myself with
my antagonist...
the ferocity of youth and health...
that i cling to shadow like
i might cling to blinking...
prior to old age i am...
walking around a choice of trees...
i tend to burden myself
with birches...
on the continent... furthest east
before you encounter russia:
you can find patches of forest
reserved for birches solely!
not in england... "though"...

well... so much of my life is but
a memory that...
so much of it has to invoke
patterns of debilitating stressors
in the vein of: exaggeration...

which is not... but since so much
is the same:
to the point where... even a *******
in a brothel would have to remark:
'but... you haven't changed!'
i read that as her giving ear to...
a kierkegaard's the changelessness of god...
for that matter: most assured...
a stone is... a mountain a sea...
a river... a man can also...
change very little...
but then again: what are the habits
of mountains...
what makes us... stale impersonators
of a supposedly exciting: yesterday...
last autumn?

i like the idea of being undisrupted:
a mimic a replica...
no clone will ever touch this
crimson lent caricature should
shame dethrone my brows...

they might just... drop off...
it can almost be deemed agitating that
i remain as constant as:
an inanimate object...
prostitutes should know...
you haven't changed...
unchanging is hardly an impasse...
being thus is...

yes... it's enough to pet animals
in order to doubly appreciate
the patience that's required from releasing
oneself from being a music *****...
as to how i became...
the benevolent misanthrope and
not... this... overtly-protectful:
scheming philantrophe...
beats me...

             i supposedly signatured my
presence to a gynocentric / heliocentric...
world order... or a patriarchy / geocentric world...
muddle spaghetti toasted figs monster...
blah blah return...

i am a misanthrope...
but at least i'm not a meddling philanthropist...
quote: mickey microsoft yates
"might have said":
by the time the second wave hits...
they might know... etc etc.

quote me on god:
i intejectd once... big mistake...
i had to satisfy myself with...
let them settled their own battles...
i will not take sides...
they engaged themselves
with crafting the pyramids...
they can escape concentration camps...
it's not like they will be alone
in the endeavour... it's not like
other people will not hear their plight...
the end...

how does this supposed "god" work...
the genius sadistic ingenuity of
the demiurge: new atheism citations
of parasites...
that wriggle into the eyes
of lambs...
        god is not a c.c.t.v.: please put
your chewing gum into a designated bin!
do not! spit! your chewing gum!
onto the pavement!

this is the vain attempt to convert
atheists?!
hyper-escalating
the already hyper-escalated
omni- litany?
  what of pause for death?
can't death be given a romance
and an angelic personification...
it has to be so ******* sterile?!
so... ha ha! alias... "godless"?

the stone becomes godless because...
the cat starts to fiddle with its
tongue for the prospect of reclaiming
genitals: by a smear of a tongue:
and that's why i kosher! chicken protein
pulp used in... a kentucky fried
wings: pigs don't fry:
sort of a spectacle...

             minus one "point": *******
to that...
they start decapitating french history teachers
who are presumably arsonists...
the 'acking ****- has a quest
to re-noun the dire straits
of telling me:
what the concept of reconquista
implores! let alone... implies!

we have achieved a fever pitch
with what book burning provided...
at a time time and a whine
when the monotheistic gods
don't have enough to **** or therefore
enough to settle for...
**** on some sand and let's call it
glue and a sand-castle:
**** it... let's call it...
a kettle of boiling water...

you heave this monstrosity of certain affairs...
you heave this... diatribe of
diabolical quests...
you become this figment
of invested life...
this crease wording...
that has to be met with ironing:

this antagonist hebrew motto
prior to: how their pride...

nasze kamienice: wasze ulice...
our tenements: your streets...
this is how the jews spoke
in ******-land... prior to their great
expulsion:
as most people do when
they talk with a wounding of their pride...
i still acknowledge the testimony
of the hebrews:
god-fearing folk are not...
their-god celebratory allahu akbar esque:
shorthand for...
if you were... circumcised upon
salvaging an inconvenience of marriage:
as to how...
Kant made the bachelor rite
a status juncture... for... right...

i don't own a porsche...
   it's not status symbol: it's not a klup necessary...
but if i owned a horse...
i'd know how to gallop with it...
break a neck etc.

this will not make it for the
egravious, larger, audience?
oh.. sorrow woo for you too...
paid for... mr / mrs. netflix
queening and boisterous king-ish...
no?
  then... pay for your own
******* bread... let me conjure up
mine!
critique for what's freely available is
a bit like:
terming in ******* when it rains
and you're not equipped with
an umbrella...
because... it has to be necessarily:
raining over saint tropez...

****** wriggling await...
for a hand-job cold fingertips
sort of gimmick...
****** of sorts...

i suppose there might have been
an audience... but... the again...
supposing there was never a supposed 'un...
i proposition: i...
i heave a conjunction: thought...
i don't allow myself an
immediacy of "reliving the past":
most immediately...
with: think or thinking...
i brush up on all over
the moral nuances...

and... hey presto!
                      a body of work... of wording...
best left completely ignored...
ergo... moi... or a germanic upper
tier variation: m'eh...
here's to!
how tulips dare to resound
in... keel-y-anyah.
i've never been...
but i'm betting
the lithuanians and the ukrainians
will give me... auxiliary / sputnik...
tabloid press hive mind-set
preemptive details to:
concern myself over / with...

here's to finger-crossing goo!

what the **** am i doing?
i would never catch myself watching a soap opera...
sure... with my grandmother...
something Mexican or Turkish,
just to keep her company...
but an English soap opera, like Eastenders...
alone? while finishing eating a curry?
right, right...
well... this is all wong...
    i was just planning to cycle for some more
whiskey, but then i was like:
i have some left, i've eaten...
i'm feeling lazy... i did what i expected myself
to do today,
i'm not, going to sit up, till 4am...
thinking up ******* to write...
i still have some whiskey left...
how about i call it a night come 10pm...
the cats are fed... i'm fed... the bed is made...
i have a woman on my mind...
i'm watching English soap opera
going akin to: huh?! with a really puzzled face...
am i going soft, am i integrating
in the fullest sense?
no no... this can't be right...
maybe i'm just gearing up to an early night:
to wake up early tomorrow morning:
fresh as a daisy... maybe i'm thinking about
meeting up her, tomorrow, at 6pm...
maybe i don't want her to think that
i stink of alcohol: get it in early, son!
house-chores... cleaning the toilet,
vacuum the house, wash the floors...
sweat some of the poison out on a bicycle...
then go and see her...
think about what the *******'re going
to do about Valentine's Day...
you're seriously going to go through
the blue orchid? ****... where can i get a blue
orchid from?
wine, remember the wine...
remember the banana loaf...
fatten the kid up... remember the kid...
you got chewing... (burp): yeah,
i have the chewing gum... i'll do all my usual...
silly little *****...
   you're going to get ****-hurt in a few day's time...
sure... sure... but at least i won't
have my heart broken...
given... i don't really have a heart to begin
with...what do i have?
fleeing emotions... fleeting emotions...
sometimes they come, sometimes they go...
they're never around to be taken
seriously...
- then again, as a drunk, i get to catch the drift
of the affairs of men and women...
i might be drunk: but i'm far from
*******... a bit like zuì quán (drunk boozing...
****... drunk boxing)
now, come to think of it...
why are these single mums at each others' throats
all of a sudden?
am i seriously that ******* special?
wait... maybe i'm just outright spastic mr. fantastic:
SPA... SPAZZZZZ...
oh right... i have assets... i don't have
a mortgage... neither do my parents...
pretty hot catch... no children... no ex wife...
no alimony to pay...
loads of books... can cook,
can clean the house, can iron shirts:
hell, figured out a methodology to iron shirts
the quickest... can fix bicycles...
can be bothered about the garden...
good interpersonal skills...
can read and manage football hooligans without
inciting violence... the silent type...
right... right...
is sometimes big on listening to
Bon Jovi...
        walks marathons, cycles to Rainham
and back...
speaks two languages...
******* Eastender Exotica right there and then!
ha ha... hmm...
o.k. o.k., now i sort of understand
the in-fighting...
          yep, it's high school all over again...
what's that famous term?

ah... divide et impera...
   divide and conquer...
  obviously though... the sceptic that i am:
i know this will backfire...
but at least i know... just about now:
why all the women in the workforce are
backstabbing each other: seeing which one will
come to the forefront...
erm... one has already won...
i don't see the point of the others trying...
but... that's not going to be that easy...
they'll be going at each other until
there's literal blood...

oh sure, that's fun...
what's more fun? my male maine ****
loves to sleep on newspapers that
i dropped on the bed while i type...
i think: he's "thinking": i'll be doing
that **** in my sleep... ******...
sure thing, Quorus...
yeah... you'll be doing that... while i'll be
meowing for eternity!
oh... conjuring up...
smoked salmon pasta...
you, *****, old **** of a worth
of 'uman;
   yeah... that's how how pronoun
gender neutrality has got you too...
you ******* 'unts!
'uck this... ***** whatever lot's
left as l'over;
f'acking sqags;
pretend butchers' boys.. little
silly pork-choppers chop chop...
'ere up... run a a round
on all the fraud that's going about
town... instead of language policing?!
honk honk in the blue...
honk for blue...
that's all you'll get...
the ******* salvation army.
bygone are the days when you'd hate
the police for simply being the police...
welcome the days when you hate the police:
for not doing the job of: the ******* police!
up your with the Yankee Wankee ****...
******* blue riddle sorts...
what are you?  a ******* metaphorical:
pick-up... need a female cyborg for 'elp?!
yeah... **** that... blue ******* ribbon...
you need that... next time someone in the citizentry
showcases more authority that
you silly ***** ever will, or could!

wow... look at me... i must have been
drinking or something...
CITIZEN... CI-TI-ZEN-RY...
    or... right... the added T..
citizenry... no wonder it's underlined...
like a spelling mistake...
which it was...
           what.... looking for?! ha.... ha ha.

Vibrating nerves, scratching
pain traveling up my legs.

Grinding, like sand
gritty mud stuck between
my teeth.

Pounding drums of acking
muscles beating against my
heart.

Burning swollen and red
my pain is a vision of
dreed.

©️ 2021 By Amanda Shelton

The buildings are rotten
and decayed, you left
my heart in ruins.

The pain settled amongst the
dusty plains, roads lead to
nowhere in a desert of acking
heartbeats and suffocating
thorn's.

Love, you left me for the
blood of your enemies,
addiction and pain runs
through your vains.

Like the whiskey and wine
you drank, you choked me
with your chains of
cigarettes and shame.

In memory of my heart,
I place this poem as
a reminder you are ruin
not my pain.

No love but ruin...
Time heals what damage
you bring. These ruin's
are the new foundation
for my strength and growth.

Watch me bloom amongst the
ruins of my heart.

©️ 2022 By Amanda Shelton

I just want to be loved,
But I can’t even love myself,
I just want to be loved,
But I can’t even love myself.

Look, pain be creeping,
And my endorphins be sleeping.
I want love but I’m scared to love,
Because in the past I’ve been so broken.
Yeah and I’m still shaking,
With my Mental health taking a toll.
My heart is acking,
If love was a marathon I’m would be at a crawl.
Trying to fall in love but I always land face first,
Am I meant for happiness or am I just cursed.
To die alone,
To cry alone,
Everything I do alone,
Is it just too much ask for a loving voice emitting from the other side of the phone?
I just want love,
But can’t stand rejection,
I ain’t looking for perfection,
Lord knows I’m anything but,
Anything but,
All I want is love,
Longing for someone that understands.
I just want love,
Someone I can walk with through this path called life.
Hand in hand.
Just some real love.
None of that fake ****.

I just want to be loved,
But I can’t even love myself,
I just want to be loved,
But I can’t even love myself.

I want someone to trust,
But I can’t seem to trust myself.
How far down must one fall,
Before they cry for help.
That what I ask myself.
Tell me is worth it?
Tell me are you really worth it?
Tell me your intentions, what’s the purpose?
They say love is hell,
But I’d rather be there with someone other than by myself.
That’s real.
Nothing in life is easy.
Nor would I want it to be.
I just need,
I just want,
I just wish,
Can’t I just be selfish for once?
Can’t I be happy for once?
To laugh,
To cry,
To kiss someone else good night,
And then wake up with them still there.
****, maybe I’m just asking for too much.
Been abandoned too much.
And push those that get to close.
Because I’m scared of being hurt again,
Scared to be left again,
Scared to rely on someone who may let me down again.
Scared to pour out my soul just for to be thrown out like some bath water...
I’m just scared.
But I also know I gotta test those oceans again.
To face those rains and winds again.
But this time choose someone better suited to survive these waves with.
In order to not drown again.