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Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
grammatical geometrics, first words serve best,
a couple smoking marijuana walking into
tinsel town, by myself, drinking, lone wolf
drinks a pact's share of harvest of midnight growls,
they say fear the man walking into a forest
at night by himself: if only his ambitions were
an acquirement for more human fossils...
i could never account for some idiot correlation
linking me to the primate form...
grammar geometry though, imagine it!
nouns are linear consolidations taking for tangents
in trigonometry of slang;
grammar is a Christopher Columbus' worth
of star gazing, overshot the mark from Portugal
and landed at Cape Horn...
bring back 1980s disco! i'll give you epileptic seizures!
honestly, ensure grammar is coupled with geometry,
hard to decipher shares with suffixes
                          -ish or                      -able.
some might say nouns are squares, and adjective are
triangles, while others would say hexagons are
verbs along with pentagons - horseradish scandals
and chicken scratches;
but when it comes to rigid grammar categorisation
you will wonder at the re-categorisation
of certain words, as Nietzsche stated, a disbelief
in grammatical arithmetic counter Cartesian
2 + 2 = i think, therefore, i am. a three times table likewise,
a horse with an apple in its mouth is also a horse
without a stable.
concerning god, i mean to suggest that re be regarded
as a pronoun, uncoupled from garçon service as a prefix...
that clean napkin and a Parisian accent of Dover,
i mean to suggest re be akin to the recycling of
sunset, sunrise, summer, spring, repeat,
the idealised pronoun formulation of any if no activity,
hence grammar and geometry,
shapes from adjectives and shapes from other categorisations;
but still the facts: to speak of god's pronoun usage
is to speak in terms of re, the repetitive cascade of
the many to come from such suggestion:
take for example standing on a bridge over the eastern avenue,
looking at trees and looking at street lamps,
the delta equilibrium balancing the analytical knowledge
of trees, and the synthetic knowledge of street lamps...
if our analytical knowledge of trees was perfected
we'd hardly think of chlorophyll incubators of photosynthesis
with solar shields on suburban roofs in Chernobyl...
we've analysed trees to such an extent as to be
ably providing illumination of "trees" for constant traffic...
term it as revision of ontology, variant:
expressing the relationship of a set to its image under
a mapping when every element of the image set has a
reverse / chiral image in the first set - hence god, in pronoun
categorisation with the standard duo function of
equilibrated thinking with being as neither owner nor
discarder, rather applying some sense of
the grammar complexes with geometrical explanations,
the prime pronoun, sunrise 1996 of may,
sunrise 2006 of may, altogether re - re is the
clarifying pronoun, of course a cause of concern leading
toward Kantian pantheism, but better the pronoun re
describing history and the obvious repeat,
than having to ascribe omni a pronoun status
with the verbs / shapes of both thought and being -
who will decipher the assertion that,
                              geometrically-and-grammatically
sp­eaking an adjective is a square? well, me an Raza
were talking about the European Championships:
- who you supporting?
- Poland.
- ah.
- who you supporting, Turkey, obviously.
- well, kind of.
- i think Iceland will bring the carnival, conquering
the Spaniard Dutch in qualification.
- i'm betting on Italy or France.
- what about England?
- ah, England has a **** team.
- true, the best English squad was 1996.
- andreas möller 1996.
- true - best squad since 1966.
- **** squad after.
- completely; when do you think Turkey will finish,
after the group stage? quarters?
- maybe.
- you think Poland will come out from the group stages?
- valiant Northern Ireland, i wish,
  a bit like agnieszka radwańska hearing the practice
of Japanese culture and lost honour:
lost a bet, early retirement, which is why a Pulitzer prize
is such a gagging instrument ensuring you keep
on speaking a trans-grammatical word going, i.e.
blah blah blah.
but still, the way the pronoun category is exploited to argue
the existence and the non-existence of:
pantheism - omni cogito (all manner of thinking provides no
                                             individualised ref. sigma-replica
                                             that might guarantee
                                             a differing between muscle flex
                                             and ego strained),
theism - re cogito (thinking, again) -
monotheism - mono cogito (thinking, alone) -
                                                      it's like neo-liberalism
politics and... the name of the father, after 2000 years
and we still don't know what his father's name is...
odd, isn't it? is it Jaspers? or is it Tickling Architecture in
Timbuktu? there were some serious problems prior
to 632 of the certified era... like... when what who?!
Phantom of Golgotha... i still want to translate geometry into
grammar - or at least,
what once was tree, that became a lamp post,
what once was onto logic, and became second nature,
what was once the nature of being,
that later became, solely, and purely, technical logistics:
whereby using a smartphone became more complicated
than rigid arithmetic, or checking the twelve hour clock-face.
whatever thought you ascribe the pronoun re,
it instils an apathy, an easily multiplying being,
and whatever thought you ascribe the pronoun omni
only means too much is encapsulated in the individual,
usually translated as an individual with debt
and an amputee story of hurt; i treat re and omni as
higher tier pronouns than i might treat the orthodoxy
currently presiding - after all, in existential parameters
i can affirm myself presiding over ****** functions
of taking a **** in whatever disguise i care to make replica
of the syllables e' 'go, or later, with subsequent theory,
the polymer of all possible affirmations, the anti-theoretical
cuckoo.
JAM Feb 2016
RECORD: LIFE'S A BEACH
FROGMAN: DJANGO DJANGO


It's only after you've lost everything, that
YOU'RE FREE
to do anything.
-- Tyler Durden, Tacky Frogman

Suzy's: Indeed, a lesson that might help one to burn off

How dangerous the acquirement of data is
and how much clappier those Brads and Janets might be
whom believe their native thought to be The Word,
than one who aspires to be greater
than their creader will allow.
-- Victor Frankenstein, Suzy

Dr. Everett Scott: Janet!
Janet: Dr. Scott!
Brad: Janet!
Janet: Brad!
Frank: Rocky Bottom!
[Rocky frunts]

Dr. Everett Scott: Janet!
Janet: Dr. Scott!
Brad: Janet!
Janet: Brad!
Frank: Rocky Bottom!
[Rocky frunts]

All-Present!

STOP: TURN THOUGHT
The Letter-Ing: class is in session
twenty-third or last
in a series of poems made of quotes
one part to a whole joke
its sum has yet to be totaled
may be more than its parts
subject to change
Grave miss-shape of my words is used upon me. A scrambled charade of truth once told in such innocent converse. Whispers of reality merge with that of embellishment and ambiguity. skilfully woven and portrayed with tongue of Silver lined exception.

Graced upon to ***** audience whom cast ribald and ****** taunt from hierarchies seat. All of whom, in all reality recognize the stamp of torturous acquirement. All so quite clearly can be witnessed, should they choose to view this mortal shell of indicted personage positioned at their feet.

Blabbered brushed jaws painting this foulest of portraits, expressing disloyal and flexuous glimpse of devotion and fidelity. Dedication and overall Commitment that was once so sought after from those who now sit in expectant judgement.

Even unto Royal figure who with such ingratitude and for own expense should be so inconceivable and self immersed than to make false expression for own end. Formulation of such discourse would make even the most unfortunate of individual aghast in repugnant antipathy.

Upon to no Maiden in this realm should I even resemble that for which I stand accused. Particularly that one of Royal Nobility of whom all graces and respect should cast such humility and servitude upon loyal and most reverent subject.

Indeed I would personally Chastise so vehemently any such being who would envisage to execute such immoral and un-pardonable that as I am oh so wrongly accused of this day. With all flight and honour would I intend to right such a wrong passed upon a lady of such stand.

I stand in excellent company with upstanding fellow also cast avail by Unruly Royal and his band of foul hounds all baying to his every utterance and command.

To rid himself of loyal Queen with illicit words of degradation and misdemeanour is not one of a King, rather a Serpent that slivers through the slime of a false Heart. Deeming so unjustly to procure another in his bed for lack of male heir.

Once my loyalty to thee was forthcoming for I thought in my very soul there stood a King of elegance and splendid honour. But all such thought now bastardised as through yonder window shines true light of day.

To thee then Henry VIII, King of this realm I curse thee with every inch of my soul. God above will levy your foul action with female child, deny thee strong male seed and burden thee with an eternity of Hell.

As I wrongly die, I am crying for all that could have been. I cry for my wife and child, for an inhuman heart that sets his sights over the death of his Queen.

For twenty thousand rights cannot make amends for one singular foul wrong.
8th September 2011
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
we used to leave the extra Statistic lesson after 3.30pm, used to jump across the wall over the playground, catch the train home... we used to break fast with dates when Ramadan came along... then the hens came along... that sort of brotherly ******* doesn't really concern me these days... i'd gladly **** your mother these days... like you ***** my mother telling me whatever that ***** said you ought to believe... do i believe in God? do i have to? do i have to believe you said those words rather than a maggot? personally i think a maggot said them... on an existential inspection, you're just someone that goes into a charity shop and buys everything for under a quid - you're just a ******* gypsy to me; but believe me, i really want to be a gypsy, mortgage free, living like river-rat... i'm comparing your intelligence to a donkey when is shouldn't be insulting a donkey... i'd love the circus, the gypsy uncertainty... i can't believe your mother actually liked me... and that you have to lie about me as "non-engaging" schizoid... when i meet your mother in heaven i'll not fail to mention that detail.

it's a funny tale,
how they cite the words          the 21st century
and subsequently ditto them    "     "           "      ,
ever the airs, every the formality,
ever the should have been,
contrasting the ever would haves...
it's hardly a reason to be comparative
with the 17th century,
the 21st century isn't that much
of a surprise... it's not a surprise at all...
it's actually quiet mundane,
the quiet everyday... as said:
via articles definite, and via the charcoal churning:
iron maiden's *strange world

versus duran duran's ordinary world,
as i said: subhuman, cancerous laughs
and still the belittling you:
it was all a worthwhile care for calcium salts,
petroleum jelly and aliphatic acids - some said
sodium acids too...
some mentioned chemists as it was
an aquarium for choir encores to a deafening,
but it wasn't - i too would have learned
the plumber's jacking-off without
groupies... had you minded my intent
to leverage the safety as worth nothing
anything but the Selfie and the jelly-baby sucrose
glue.
i'd like to go back to the 17th century with
the musketeers... i'd be fed less jealous comparisons
with the reigning Louis XIV...
i'd be diverted by an adventure, laying siege to
Lyon, which would mean much more to me
than paying the taxes as a medical doctor....
i'd be agile on the musket, a musketeer,
shooting heads to later write a Don Quixote for
a ballet... but as 21st century's writing proves:
i only wrote because my life was truly banal...
i would't have written otherwise...
had my life the attributes of a Don Juan...
you think i'd have written anything?
only banality prompts you to write...
if you decide to write, and keep banality
as a saintly ordinance best kept unscathed,
well... then you better salt your eyes for an improvement
of the bitterness of shed tears awaiting the
once anthem-blessed glorification a nation likened to Iran
having a pointless streak of competition
sparked alive with a necessity of breathing being excused
so that the competitive acquirement is stocked
and compiled to an encyclopaedic assurance,
preference: A prior to Z.
Kenzie Delong Feb 2013
She can see the world in all its horrid glory.
How it’s disgusting burning madness draws her in
How curiously it provoked so many thoughts
Her cortex is a mere fraction of what stirs in her head
Her burning notions coil and yearn, but perplexed they stay
Lingering strife resides yet
Leaps and bounds she strides
To define the mess at hand
To make sense of what is spanned
But she finds no answers
Barely any order remains
Her wonderful notions start to fade
It is not this burning mess that infuriates her so
It is the downfall of all things beautiful
The things she held so dear
The ones that she never knew were near
Ones that slipped through her hands furtively
Ones she believed would never betray
Discovering their loss after the acquirement of knowledge
****** she will be if it destroys her
Faster and faster she prances
Faster and faster she flees
Till there is nothing left for her to see
Till there is nothing left for her to be
Save an angry empty shell
Just one of many discarded in this burning madness.
Michelle Long Feb 2012
Grotesque, decrepit halls
Filled with livid porcelain dolls
Staring down upon us all
Watching as we fall

Hallways with scent of death
Make us forget to breathe even a breath
Our apprehension they test
To have ever entered, we regret

These pathways we lament
Walls stained with a blackened tint
Of directions, they give us hints
So, it's the wrong way we've went

Winding labyrinth, crawling on forever
Lost and hopeless, we tremble
The minds behind this are cryptic and clever
Demented on the highest of levels

Narrow and eerie is this pit
Upon the walls, shadows hit
Moving violently in a monstrous fit
Onto our corpses, words of hatred they spit

In this hell of pain and fright
It would be ****** to attempt a fight
But they're stronger, we lose our sight
Somehow seeing even less light

Lost in this cold, confusing world
We do nothing but sit and wait on the floor
With no remembrance of anything from before
Searching, we lose acquirement of anything more
This was written over three years ago.
Harley Hucof Mar 2021
What happens in the unknown ?

Sages preach of "knowables" and "unfathomables",
but I perceive it to be a cognitive game since my attention is always fixated
on patternized characteristics and sceneries.

I've known and loved myself enough to  know not to invest my thoughts or actions in impulses
Yet from time to time, I tolerate myself.

Life might be identified as unknowable but we all live and die,
consumed by a spectrum of unnecessary emotions and intense analyses
to finally, ironically, conclude that death is punishment.
So, we befriend God like deceitful hypocrites, seeking immortality and monetary advantage.

Still, many believe in the procedure of acquirement through encounter.

Perhaps if you go further for once, you might find human alternatives locked in unusual dispositions,
veiled, yet waiting to be discovered.

Death only happens to those who have merit,
and what happens in the unknown is never open to analysis,
for what stops death
is awareness.



Words Of Harfouchsism
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
https://goo.gl/5zvwbM, sometimes a song pulls me through, while i scope around the perfect internet use & presence, this thing (called the internet) seriously needs a navigator, we're on a ship, the skies are pitch-black, we need to find new constellations to navigate; what is the equivalent of constellations in this enormous pacific ocean? i guess each other; because you obviously don't remember the times of MSN messanger, or hot-mail chat rooms... boy it was anonymous then, now it graduated to an identity - basically all social media outlets, like this are complex versions of hot-mail chat rooms, the only defence in this realm is acute authenticity - conrad is my second name, i like joseph conrad thought my surname to be a bit boring.*

i found that puberty ended mid-way
through my twenties,
when i could actually hide my second
chin behind rough ***** hair of
a beard - i guess when you're a man
it's not when you hit twenty and loose
the 'teen bit of your age - all the science
has proved that a complete ****** hair
acquirement happens in your mid-twenties.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
a poet, unlike a composer,
is never matured or kept
by the world which he wishes to
satiate, nor is ever mentioned
by the world as in waiting
or as the awaited...
he's always missing, amiss,
unkept and therefore easily discarded
as the next speaker of the common
phrase that might regurgitate
a succumbed to maxim with
the same eager ignorance
of acquirement due to the ease
of expression, but the lack of knowing
of what's intended.

— The End —