Social media companies
Swear it's you they want to please
They badly want for you to see
That they value privacy
And that there are several strictures
On who can see your posts and pictures.

You think your profile is secure
You're satisfied until you hear
That they sell your information
To advertising corporations.

Every post that you've spent time on
pictures, videos you had your eye on
They save it all for using later
And say "It's ONLY metadata!"

They as good as have a list
Of content that you can't resist
And knowing full well what you like
With custom ads they duly strike!
They desperately want you to keep scrolling
So they can see the money roll in.
And their ethics will be forfeited
So advertisers can be profited.

To all of you advertisers
Throw your thing on its proper place
Will you just stop please
Don't vandalize this sacred face

This is where our feelings ride
The journey of our low and high
The future will learn from our joy and pain
For us to move faster, end your foolish game

That's why it's Hello Poetry not Hello Adverts
I know you know how to read lines so please divert
I beg you once again find another room
We are POETS here and simply... this is our HOME...

08-06-2015
Mysterious Aries

Over the course of 64 years (and still), I have encountered so many women (including my still lovely ex-wife) in person and in writing who struggle with their looks. It seems to be an eternal theme that crosses generations. So, I decided to write this humble piece in reply.
There are some who would say I can’t write about women’s feelings because I am a man. A patronizing old, white man. I note their objecions, but I disagree. I believe humanity always trumps gender.
We live in an artificial culture created and controlled by advertisers. Not only do they sell us stuff, they convince us that we need it. Women are perfect targets for them.
So they have created impossible standards for women to live up to. You must always look like you are 25, young and thin. They tell you this is the key to being desired, even loved. As it’s impossible to be young and thin forever, they just happen to have the products that will “help” you. They want your minds so they can profit by manipulating them. They do a great job of it.
So the key to loving your bodies and yourselves is to take back your minds. This is difficult. You are bombarded with a barrage of words and images that say you are not good enough. If only you were younger, thinner, shaped like Barbie, not greying, had longer legs, bigger *******, wore a size 2, you would be happy, and — of course — men would desire you. You would never be traded in for a younger, sleeker model. So many insecurities to exploit.
But consider the difference between beauty and Beauty. Beauty is human, individual and eternal; beauty is abstract, mass and reliant on current tastes.
I have known many women of all shapes, sizes and ages who were Beautiful. That Beauty was expressed from their hearts through their faces and eyes. They radiated it. It was not dependent on my or any other man’s approval. It just was. So I know this can be done.
Fashion changes so there will always be new things to sell. To the current ad masters, the Gibson girls of the late 19th century would now be called fat. Sell them a diet plan and gym membership. The angular loveliness of the Venus de Milo too cold and boyish. Sell her cosmetics and plastic surgery. Mona Lisa, a dumpy Italian girl. So many things to sell her.
And then there is that intense desire to please men that begins with daddy. I often hear its echo even in the strident voices of the most ardent feminists. The advertisers trade on that. That’s deep. That’s very hard to overcome. That’s both an individual and a cultural problem.
But many women never seem to consider that a great many men aren’t dumb enough to buy the 25 and thin forever image and don’t really demand to be constantly pleased. They might actually be looking for intelligence, heart, affection and respect instead of a perfect ***. Not all, often not the young, but many.
At some point, you have to say no and mean it. You are not your age, dress size, cup size or waist size. Those are just outward manifestations of the true you. If someone rejects you on the basis of such ephemeralities, you are better off without them. You have to take control of your soul. No one can give you that except yourself. You have to live with yourself just as men have to live with themselves. Again, humanity trumps gender.
I unabashedly love women. They have been one of the great delights of my life. I love the difficulties and the differences. What a woefully dreary world it would be if men and women were they same. So, it pains me to see so many women in so much pain.
You are, first of all, a person and that is worth insisting upon. Insist. Demand. Escape, if necessary. Be the only you you can ever truly be. Then you will feel pretty. And you will be as pretty as you feel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dbshnvztGA

  ~mce

they day finishes with: at last! a schoth reserve
for highlands nomads!
     long gone is the fatamorgana of soberness
coupled with a very softcore soviet sleep
experiment: i chance you to also say:
the soviet sleep experiment is a way to censor
dreams, **** it: another paul mccartney
can write another yesterday into the repertoire,
you can hear of marathon-men who did over
100 hours without sleep, and when it came to
sleeping: hour-long interludes...
as all the p.o.w's realised was the case:
stop this dream-industry of disney! stop it!
nearing 36 hours is nothing,
when i'm going to do a hiatus in Poland visiting
my grandparents i'm planning to top that,
perhaps 48... just to get the glory days of Jews
in ancient Egypt and Joseph the adviser to
the pharaoh: 7 lean years, followed by 7 years
of starvation: what we otherwise carpe diem
over-indulgence - Moses wrote the book
of disgrace... when things turned sour,
obviously he was *******, just a little bit,
from a Jew becoming an adviser to the pharaoh
by interpreting his dreams which were always
in abundance given his lavish lifestyle...
dreams come to people who aspire to lavish
lifestyle, dreams come to people who take no
pleasure from the simplest prospects of a peaceful
hermitic life... they need both the lavish life
and the lavish hope of an afterlife with abundant
dreams... they can't master the opposite:
from simple pleasures that life has to offer:
one forsakes the capacity to the need to dream...
yet those who attain a comfortable Buddhist /
bourgeoisie / middle life: through the ethic of hard
labour find dreams nonsense... only
aristocrats find meaning in dreams, because
they have enough life insurance to guarantee them
the very unentertaining life, hence the Freudian
cinema, and here is their seeking of meaning,
because outside of their sleep nod,
their meaning is already akin to a predatory creature
kept in a zoological confinement, rather than
beckoned to attest the prime element beyond
the classical elements of fire and: where was the
Japanese army bombing the hell out of that
****** tsunami to make the orca-surf shrapnel?
where? nowhere! the reporters were there prior,
i'd swear you could have done the reverse Aleppo
with that tsunami wave by bombing it and
saving lives... but no... atoms bombs were never
intended for warfare as such, they're non-profitable...
all the arms-dealers across the world make more
money from millions of bullets and thousands upon
thousands of guns being sold: atom bombs make
no economic sense... atom bombs make
no economic sense in terms of dealing arms...
the soviet sleep experiment was one of the topics
at the end of today... the other was feline pavarotti
in a cattery: i swear to god that ginger is acting
too much like a bloodhound... moans all the ******
time, i've heard every kind of Tosca, but a cat's Tosca?
never in my life has a cat so many variable versions
of meow... animals really do possess their owners,
but in a way that shows the owners to themselves...
a poem a day: keeps the psychiatrist away.
and back to the soviets, who discovered Yiddish
dream-factory ******* that only applies to
aristocrats akin to Wilhelm Oedipus II,
    i never understood why people desired so much
from dreams, pure unconscious doesn't allow it,
it's shallow dreaming that becomes easily swayed
by a decreasing poignancy of the senses that
creates dreams, and as we've already been told:
they're bound to millisecond intervals -
snoring can be seen as a prompt for dreaming,
but then pure unconscious that's beyond the sensual
realm of pulverising you with everything external
          doesn't allow dreams, because it allows rest...
the subconscious makes more sense in terms of dreams
than what it currently prescribed,
             on the fully-waking hour of what people call
reverse-psychology (popularly), or who people can
influence you and treat you as a pawn...
   in the waking hour the theory of the subconscious
is that it's somehow there, and it's brimming with
theories ranging from the unitary stealth workings
of a superego, to advertisers competing for your
attention, as in: how can this person be manipulated?
that's the strain of thought working from consciousness
where you are said to have: no free will,
no critical approach toward the world with thought,
that you are naive and gullible...
  such people do exist, because they're not working
on the subconscious from the unconscious position,
hence they are most probably highly-developed dream-machines,
they probably even dream in colour and remember
dreams vividly... but take all the things i said
about the subconscious from a conscious pinpoint
and invert the starting point from an unconscious
pinpoint, and all that manipulating dynamic that
the subconscious is supposedly is fed fades
   to simply expose the subconscious as the medium
of dreams, whereby dreams appear from a sensory
hush of all external factors... a few days back i dreamed
i woke in a bed covered in cobwebs and spiders crawling
in them... the last thing i remember looking at?
my pet incy-wincy hanging on a silken web in
the corner of my room... for this to be true,
and for all that pompous subconscious theoretical *******
to go away, to actually work on the subconscious
having a dream reality rather than a reality of
being easily swayed by superego or advertisement
and willingly giving up your will to external factors
that go beyond mere senses... you have to acknowledge
at least 36 hours of the soviet sleep experiment, clock:
no nodding.m i've set the threshold,
the junkies did over 100 hours without sleep,
but they were army material, i'm... dunno.
              a break with an article on melanie martinez,
and then back into today's end...
    it's pouring cats & dogs outside, and will so
throughout tomorrow, one of the street lamps has
turned itself into solitary disco strobe...
   e.e.m. (epileptic eye movement)
           vs. r.e.m. (rapid eye movement) -
the difference? the latter invokes the theatrical curtain
of the eyelids... the former invokes your eyes
having rolled to the back of your head so you only
see the sclera...
but a real life problem too!
in these pseudo-capitalistic societies, companies
have started to do the Pontius Pilate tactic,
they are companies without employees,
what they want are subcontractors, people who
are self-employed, because actually employing
employees is bad business for them: you have to
have a pension fund... and what capitalist wasn't
old people getting money for doing nothing?
most construction companies are following this trend...
but the problem with that is that these companies
are employing useless managers, construction
site managers that should be on a site for at least 2
days a week... even 3... so they can get the knitty-gritty
of organisation done and the project runs smoothly...
but as i've already known for months,
say a roofing company from Gloucester is given
a London-based contract... it has employed a
project manager... who 1st of all doesn't have the right
credentials to be a manager... and this pleb travels
to London from the village of Gloucester
and is on a construction site for about half an hour,
doesn't make any notes,
and spends the rest of the time being a ******* tourist
in and around London, a day like this happens,
an authentic waterproofing problem...
   so you have these flats near the city airport,
and they're connected with walkways and have planters
too... you lay the concrete, then do the waterproofing:
primer, hotmelt, fleece, hotmelt, felt.
                  now the problem, why impose self-employment
and also employ parasitical managers who know
jack **** or are interested in selfies on tower bridge?
only because they can get a cheap train ticket back
to the village of Gloucester before the rush-hour commute?
the problem is simple, or hard, depends whether
there's an actual plan and someone is bothered..
four elements...
       1. drainage matt,
             2. pebbles,              3. filter layer
and 4. ~artificial turf... plastic-like, not asphalt,
     i grant it a status of artificial asphalt,
  or turf coloured copper...
the debate ranged about where the filter layer should go,
but there was no manager with the appropriate
method statement to give... the ******* crane arrives
at 8am, and he texts the day before that he might have
an answer by noon... or that some other manager should
be consulted to the method statement...
i suggested that first: the drainage matt, then the pebbles,
then the filter layer and then the artificial asphalt...
   the other suggestion was: drainage matt,
filter layer, pebbles and then the artificial asphalt
        given that pebbles will never be spread like
a plateau of concrete, meaning there will be pockets
beneath the artificial asphalt to soften the walk
and give more spring to the step...
                  and then i read a newspaper in england
and start to think: are these the only people on an actual
payroll? with safety in retirement schemes?
          i used to think of journalists as daring...
Watergate journalism that did something...
               then you turn on the 24 news channels
and state media is no different to free-enterprise media...
     as people my age say: television is really
a piece of 20th century antiquity... who gives a ****
that millions watched a man walk on a moon
on it... at least a billion people watched the cinnamon
spoon challenge from some ******* on the internet!
     or that guy who gave his cat l.s.d.,
or that guy who jumped off tower bridge and caught
pneumonia and had to be rescued...
still, the rain is ******* down, i've got my headphones
on, and that rebel street-lamp has turned into
a discoteque strobe's of needy rhythmic epileptics -
as every: i count most psychiatric terms in popular
use as undercover poetics, people who don't read
poetry, nonetheless apply psychiatric terms
   an unilateral transcript of denoting them as metaphor(s)
in everyday sprechen; and yes,
our informal vocabulary usually suffers for the fact
that we have chosen a fixed (courteous, hierarchical)
formal vocabulary, that erodes any chanced deviation
akin to a cat-stretching: e.g. (a) so and so died,
(b) oh, i'm sorry,        (c) and you're the one who
brought back the resentful Lazarus?
(d) as if you could have, prevented the inevitable;
a conversation between four strangers.

war took mine, i was sold  playing tenchu
on level 6... just before i was to
assassinate this ***, and he practised all
his bow skill in private, then it was made public
by a ninja... i only completed final
fantasy 7 with a walk-through...
i hate the fact that i stuck to
the schooling narrative...
  but hose were the PS1 days,
those days are gone, gone gone gone,
bye bye gone...
                 the **** was that?!
an oscar for best actor at the gladiator premier?!
why isn't more gaming mentioned in poetry?
where is raziel, and the the legacy of cain:
soul reaver, and the story about how he
squashed his brothers:
dumah, melchiah, rahab, and zephon?
oh look: the geek in me!
                 100 years from a youtube video...
i'm bound to do the bristol d'uh and say:
i've never been to south america...
nor ever...
                        me go sort out this avalanche
if that's o.k. with you, hmm?
this is the thrill you get when seeing peoiple
play a reincarnation of gameboy,
i.e. candy-crush saga... if you moved beyond
the PS1 universe you won't get it...
if you remember PS1 games, you'll probably
remember SEGA and sonic,
and age of empires 2, and sim city 3000...
**** me! but you won't probably remember the
weathergirl... who was becky mantin
when this was written...
           odd, that little gray box of saturdays
and sometimes sundays, but definitely
saturday mornings...
                    it gone... and i don't feel like owning
an update of it, because games have become
overtly narrative prone, they only allow thise gameplay
that's too narrated... i switch on the console
and i want mario bros. calculator type of dynamism...
instead i get this really complex story
when i should be reading a book...
   no, really, when did gaming become so
****** engrossing that i try to become distracted by
brick walls?
           when did i or when didn't i take to playing
chess? well... when i started playing dominos
with 6 cigarette stumps and a black hardcover
philosophy book... maybe around then.
books i great, believe me...
but this nook of counter-arcade games?
i woke up at 9am as if about to go to school
and played that japanese fetish for hours...
so much if our culture in nearing the post-20th
century culture was axis... it was almost all japanese...
you can't take that fact out and replace it
concerning: god intervened at Giza and yawned
at chichén itzá...
because you would... still, i thankfully retired
from the gaming experience (when did PS2 come out?
i wanted it for about 2 years and still didn't
get it)...
    1998? 1997?
                      thankfully i get to mention computer
games like novels... SEGA mega drive?
yep, owned that.
                   and yes, i can cite an ATARI,
and ****, **** **** me!
   that original NINTENDO?!
              and that shooting mallard simulation
against a screen of televisions that could
still issue you with van der graaf static
   of "levitating" hair?
(when televisions were still 3D and played
you remnants of the big bang
       in televised black and white khrrr sound,
all dicta fidgety, like looking through the eyes
of a bluebottle fly)... or
    the original prince of persia?
     those two dimensional ferns rotating round and
round when approached in the original tomb raider?
oh forget the cone-****-madonna...
shaid the ish cream van man to shaun shoonery...
cheap ****: said the dead with charlie
at the head of their horde of entertainment's flops.
i retired from the gaming world though,
left it when PS1 expired...
and morphed into PS2...
           i'm half sad and half saying: i can understand
candy crush, because i can understand
the origin: TETRIS.
like i can understand why i can't do crosswords,
my father just said: even i can't do them,
the clues are all a bit of a wanking to comprehend...
it's as if they only based them on the thesaurus...
   we're good on sudoku though, that can be solved
without problems...
        i miss those games though,
i finished final fantasy 7 with a walkthrough
though... tenchu was also fun to complete,
crash bandicoot? anyone remember him?
           now for not faking it...
                                     i'm glad that's over,
i'd hate the gaming experience as i hate interactive
t.v. thesedays... all this pause and rewind?
  thanks to it i sometimes press the STOP
button when listening to the radio and wonder
why it just keeps running... oh right: this isn't
a c.d. transmission... funny though, the gaming experience
translated into t.v. really has made advertising
ultra competative or utterly useless....
   you just end up pausing before a break, and then
scrolling past the advertisers' airtime...
next thing i'll be buying is when they make
an advert for shoepaste.

Where buses still elapse with Time
Down straight Dame Street
The Trees are satellites that allow Children to look up
and let the pavement breath.

Earthen Columns that gate the Boombox Clubhouse tint
Flanked by the Yeoman Guards of Hollister
but forget to pay the same compliment
outside of American Apparel
Where Teenagers dream out fantasies
of lamp-lit, flash-shot
worship-worthy objectification
in a converted loft in the real New York
Their headphones spring streams of bright optimism
as they cradle knitted knee-high socks.

Take the curve round Trinity College
and laugh past the rumours
that it may soon float on Dow Jones
and dodge past the charity advertisers
Strutting over campbags of sleeping homeless
to Lemon Cafe for an overpriced Mocha
Which regardless deflates the sheen-covered hollowness
of green-comfy Starbucks

and learn the subtleties of speaking lightly
to dark-jaceketed Blonde girls
Whose eyes seem to sparkle "Yes, we have sipped
on Veuve Clicquot at reserved tables on Graduation nights
at Cafe En Seine"
-"Where Oscar Wilde might have drank"
- "..Had he been alive."

Then speculate on the best Festivals and whose
Films and Books are over-hyped and under-appreciated
and the after-College Gossip on who broke-up or stayed together
or who hooked up even though they shouldn't have
or regretted it

and who's doing a paid internship and who's moving abroad

and afterwards charmingly tease their superficial attitudes
as meanwhile they secretly take photos
to upload on Instagram
and later you'll fake-admonish them
for how they did this behind your back
while you were staring into the lake
in St. Stephen's Green.

When the moon no longer glazed the water
and had receded its contrast to the farthest grass
and you decide to take the last bus home.

Throughout
Caution Glints The Vowels
and Brands them too.

.alimony: basically? i don't like paying for something... that i can't keep; savvy?!

so "these" people,
have no problem in exploiting
your girls into becoming
their advert agents?!

the girl who advertises
free-lance style,
but doesn't get paid
for the advertisement,
per se?

no problem?
i have a problem...
  a real ******* problem!
so... you basically
reinvented the Marx / Engels
critique of child labor?!

so you have this advertisement
dynamic, with unware
children, pushing your products?
making the slightest mark
on the buck...
    
            you have children pushers...
you have children mmaking
the profit margins...
    yes?
             you, *******, ****-tards!
    so the children
you "employ", are doing the hard
stuff, to incubate your
bureaucratic employees?
and keep them in employment
positions of mediocre power?

you have to be,
******* kidding me!

   your type of people are beyond
fake news....
you're paedo-news...
some of us would care
to denote at: covert excuses...

   take ashley wicka...
a corporate pimped *****...
how old is she?
barely 15?
         looks like the advertising
community, really needed
first person advertisers...
   first person accounts....
esp. young people...
  because?
  the older generations,
"the gap": wasn't paying into
the gimmick...
    
i actually abhor what they
allowed themselves to do with
the young people...
   i'm sick, tired, and
almost feigning fatigue from
the list of excuses
that surmounts the excuse for
ethical practice...
   which is never was,
and never will be...

       i'm too lazy to give a ****...
give me a .gif contra
a **** movie extract....
          have your little siesta
of ******...
   have it, **** me...
saves me a gym deliberation...
not ending up a
gymnast...
          rather, a pivot for  bending
knee...
             i've learned **** the lazy, lax way...
when asked by a Bulgarian
*******,
if i wanted to girls for an hour,
i replied the Joker's reply...
comparing the differential
of, a world, divided
into men who ****** one girl,
and men who ****** two girls...

i'm like a dog chasing cars...
if i caught one?!
i wouldn't know what to do with one!
in this instance?
i wouldn't know what to do
with two!

           have your anti-****** boast-trip....
your ******* innuendo,
your ego / ******* sized over-trip...
****... let me stretch your *****
out for you...

           point being?
i don't have to own, what i ****,
or... don't ****...
but you do...
    your self-esteem is dependent
on a form of closure...
so?
     you **** it?! you own it!
hello! surrogate phantom pater!

where's your
elephantiasis
****-size glorification,
now?

        oh, right... sorry...
forgot...
now comes the alimony;

look at me, doing the Pontius Pilate
Houdini trick!
or showing you,
the disappearing, *******!

you look so good
like a goddess
where's the courage to tell you?

do
I know the right words?

An innocence of love like
a bird in the sky,
in its cerulean heaven,
all its purity
untainted.

all the painters in the world
using all their colors
like ravens and vultures,
and the advertisers
using maroon and crimson
like doves and love,
they just don't know.

How you look in a snapshot,
is better than a mural.

I hate that we can't talk any more,
seems decrepit, I'm so poor,
spoiled by the gift of your lost love,
like a pearl in my mouth,
every gulp of the sea
is a tearjerker.

All I want is love and affection
from the eden of your love,
the juice of your apple
a knowledge
only concerning to gods.

The seed of your body,
a peachtree paradise,
each pod dropping to the body of my death,
like the shroud of renewal.

Each new picture of you:
the destruction of your youth,
and the eruption of your wonderland,
is another nail,
another regretful wish
that I'd seen and understood
everything beautiful about you.

Even in the moontide hours,
when the dawn brawled
and your teeth crawled against the loose skin of my earlobes
as you gripped with pearly whites
my lying flesh,
and my lips touched every truth you'd never known.

Only god could ever know the pain of now.
Only I could ever wish I knew your heaven.

By
MEG ELISON


I am the very model of a modern-age millennial,
I’ve got no cash, no house, no kids, and student debt perennial,
I know the rules of Tinder, and I’m not sold on monogamy
(For what it’s worth I think that stems from troubles ‘tween my mom and me)
I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters on the gender front
Myself, I am nonbinary; your labels I so do not want
Been disillusioned by my expectations with a lot o’ stuff,
The skills with which I am equipped for life are frankly not enough

My job prospects are hobbled by insistence on a living wage
Compete at entry level with some washed-up folks at twice my age
In matters of identity, employment and such petty ills
I am the very model of a modern-age millennial
Preorder the brand-new edition of the 2014 version of Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You—originally published with McSweeney's 48—and you'll receive your copy in September. Now a major motion...

On Monday I killed Applebee’s, on Tuesday I axed country clubs
I’ve never bought a diamond and I have no use for cashmere gloves
I quote dank internet memes in lieu of sharing actual thoughts
For earnestness has been passé since sometime in the early aughts
Still advertisers flail and fail to capture all my buying power
(The sum of which amounts to renting GIG cars by the paltry hour)
I’m subject to the bleak nostalgia of Generation Xers
And YouTube sensibilities adored by web-savvy youngsters
So I get to the take the blame for our country’s tanked economy
While fighting for my basic rights and ****** autonomy
In short I’m ****** in matters from the vital to the trivial
I am the very model of a modern-age millennial

In fact, when I know what is meant by "social justice warrior”
When I can tell at sight a fascist MRA conspirator
When such affairs are treated as unsolvable new mysteries,
I shake my head and wonder if the Boomers studied history
When I have learnt what progress has been made and then just flushed away
My generation’s best bet looks like playing Fortnite drunk all day
In short, if you’re angry right now and spewing aged white vitriol
Remember you created me: the modern age millennial

For I’m the generation raised upon the game Monopoly
You’re hoarding all the wealth and jobs and mock me for my poverty
So now I’m skewing socialist with discourse quite ungenial
Please check your local ballots for the modern-age millennial

Saintly cassock,
Glittering altar
Ornamental pulpit.
           
 

Driving the congregants
            in a paroxysm of fib,
Gullibility enshrines adherents
            hearts.
Do you know the Messiah more
            than the apostles ?
Thou traders in the temple.

Parrotic tongues set out
            commands
Loquacious sweet-coated mouths
            misdirects faithfuls.
But the uncreated Creator who
            creates creatures watches
Dreadful silence astonishingly
            permeates the entireness
           of the universe.
Do you preach love?
Do you follow peace with all?
Ye robbers in the temple.

Command darkness to produce
            light.
But you turned moonlight into
            tale.
Can you display Davidic dance
            steps on the road?
Profanity of sanctuary with
            false homiletics.
Merchants of dross in tabernacle

Speak.
Let us hear you.
Preach
To the congregants.

Righteousness afar from the
          apron of faith.
Charity locked up in the
          tunic of hope.
Sanctity of holiness sprinkled
          into the tributary of sin.
Commanding the stars to turn
           to sun,
Captains of night in light.
Ye robbers in the sanctuary.

Pastoral advertisers of chattels
           in the tabernacle,
Merchandising gold dross in
            sermonic hymns.
Sugar-coated doctrine wept in
             the tomb of Lazarus.
Prompting Him to weep again?
Ye merchants in synagogue.

Disentangle faithfuls from the
          webs of worriment.
Dislodge congregants out of the
          shackles of sin.
Deliver ignoramus from the
           isle of incendiary.
Let the sifter of strength
           separate out afflictions from
           feebleminded faithfuls.

Ye robbers in the temple
You love prayers more than God
But who answers prayers?

Free unrestricted journal publications
Words are bombs, dropping ink and paper
Typeface whistle blower and in your face
Chasing stories and truth, free the gonzo
The revolution in print, internet, television
Notepads, computers, and wi-fi
Liberated publication for all open eyes
A world of free thinkers and literary fact
No comment from the silent advertisers
Their payment in truth concealing lies
The United Censoring Of America
The political principles of censorship
Glory or death, guts and congratulations
No justice, no peace, no surrender
We’ve got the voice louder than power
The accuracy of enigmatic liberty

she gave me a blow-job on the beach
so we got back together
nothing changed…******* always comes out

It’s taken some months
but I'm am reptilian again
not traditional
,but,
there are no traditional humans.
advertisers want you to think there is an average,
you are different,
that is how they make their money,
so I sit and stare into black and smile,
and think how I have been fooled

I smile wide
wider than I think possible
the webbing of my mouth cracks

I am comfortable in darkness
because
it is the only place I can truly meditate and grow
maybe one day this will change, right now it is true
I have figured the key to attractiveness; unapologetically go after what you want, period.

warm-up.*

yep, and i turned a trombone into an elephant
trunk... and i didn't even touch anything,
i just looked at one thing, then looked at
the other thing, and then, boom! a synonymous
equation.

like i once said: at the quasi-end of capitalism
the far left will encourage everyone to have an artistic
expression, all the madmen also have art sessions
in asylums... art and the healing process...
please tell me when left politics begins to get
serious, the right would say: you want to escape
a job as a cashier? take l.s.d., forgot about the need
to "express yourself"... more harm than good...
but the prescription by a joke of leftist politics
is just that: become a closet artist,
or become a closet intellectual by simply donning
the groovy look of a beard and some chequered
shirt and ripped jeans and Converse sneakers,
or something, making you fit the profile of
an atypical Camden High Street shopper...

you see what i mean about art these days?
they said the same thing back when it was oil on canvas
or Dürer's carvings - people will spend millions
on paintings, that's how they understand the worth
of art, they invest in objects that the artist invested in also,
meaning buying and selling dynamics:
paint and canvases and brushes and renting messy
studios...

the modern artist overshadows all other artistic efforts,
the cheap stuff, poetry is cheap ****,
pennies from heaven... what? that's the reality...
i wish i could say: taking interest in poetry,
liking poetry, and other such statements are equivalent
to in-secret liking some pop song... given that
the pop song is actually psychologically crafted to
the make you an automaton in appreciating it.

so it's called art, the Turner Prize 2005 winner...
turned a "shed" (take a look at it,
that's a shed? how big is your garden?
looks more like a storage house on some Caribbean
island where pirates roamed in the 17th century,
given the size) into a boat, sailed it down a river,
then rebuilt the boat into a shed...

are we laughing now? no one these days can compete
with artists, there's no classical
notion of painting, or writing, engulfed by advertising:
advertisers use rhyming - the old notion of art
has become engulfed by advertising -
however good you are,
you have to be a carpenter or a sculptor of some sort,
the rest is nothing; so this leftist prescription of keeping a
creative side when living in the mundane world is sickening...
all the jobs went to Asia, a bankruptcy of production...
if they only allowed us to have meaningful jobs
we wouldn't have to hear the ******* of being prescribed
possessing a creative side...
                                                  in the quasi-end of
capitalism we're all artists... all of us...
                                                                    am i desperate
about this state of affairs? should i be?
                           i have my trombone turned into an elephant
artwork - all the best to Simon Starling,
i'd be too lazy to do something like that...
           what seems difficult to gulp down is how far
removed the 20th century is from today,
about how people appreciating art are primarily concerned
with large open spaces...
                          the idea of art these days fits perfectly
with the modern notion of claustrophobia...
it's supposed to be mingling with agoraphobia -
well, that's how i see it, who can tell if i'm right or wrong
if no opinion can actually be sustained by a prodding
conversation to deal with an opinion further?
well, we already know the end result of dialectics:
i know nothing - that's how the antique mouth of
Socrates changed, back when he invented it
i know nothing was a presupposition... leaving the
art barren, we know how it's going to end, which is why
we like strutting the peacock with sponge-like brains
of opinions.

i just look at the size of these art exhibitions -
massive open space rooms, a large piece of art, you
enter such a space and you attempt to mingle
the claustrophobia of a large crowd - and with such
a piece of artwork, notably it's size, you get the impression
of having a much larger reference in this world,
that you are more important than the world deems you to be,
well.. agoraphobia is a form of claustrophobia,
some phobias are synonymous,
                                                       a large open space, inside
a large piece of artwork...
                                             i feel big...
i live in a few square miles and don't really venture out...
well, that's apparently called life...
                 tiers of the many platitudes...
       or as i say?
keeping Shakespeare, for all his greatness is just about
making traffic... we're queuing - nothing more...
          it's not even about holding to the dear life -
it's holding to the life that passed and will never return -
making our contemporary interpretation of life
                                    a hush, when their's revived is a roar -
great trick... keep them with us long enough
so we get scared then the lions roar -
                  then watch them enter the classics domain
and become entertaining to a dozen people...
everything just seems to have a: u.b.d. (use by date)
and b.b.s. (best before date).

I want to tell you that your beautiful,
inside and out.
but I think lately I've come to the realization,
that the only beauty I care about,
comes from within.

Now my voice may not be the loudest,
and I really hope that it is not drowned out,
because I want to tell you that
being judged for something you are born with
is a disadvantage for us at all

Also, please stop telling me that "I know beauty doesn't matter.".
Because, if it didn't matter then why to advertisers make millions every year selling women makeup.
Why does society try to sell me this illusion of the perfect woman?

If our country focused less on our apperance then there would be a lot less self-hatred
and much higher self-esteem
and so much less eating disorders

So I want to start a resolution,
no more telling someone their beautiful,
just based on appearance.
If I want to tell someone they are beautiful,
only it's because I know that their actions,
and decisions, and personality,
are really truly beautiful.
So I wanted to start with you.

That faraway look

not seeing far away, appearing to be

looking, far away,
past today

A game?
A passed time?
A pretended game,
Hi-stoically accurate,

A war game where there's blame and shame,
like on TV, nowadays, with victims,
not yesterdsdays,
Kilroy was
here,

olden days of our Ford.

hey, kid, yer uncle needs ya…

Dare ye?
'S only a game. A  pass time.

Multi-medium, don't spend

your life dist ant con nextrified, terra
firmafied, dis con
nexted

c'mon
try, win, ship, ship, whip get it in the wind

swish wish the message is the medium
light is,
see

Life on TV in 1963, Mr. McLuhan,
is not life on the Net.

Now, you know,
you never saw us old dudes
with pocket HDTV studios coming, but

you did see all the clues, the times changed,
history rewrote itself, evidently,

what you think you see is what you get.
That part didn't change.

The Medium is the message,
do I get that?

War is un winnable, is that the message?
With which weapons?

Mine. (a wink, a think wink, I think)
The Shadow knows.

It is finished. Start there.
It's a whole new ball game.

Let's pretend we have enemies
The emotions are the same,
aren't they?

If we relate.
If we see our self,
our CG'd Junger self, in the Shadow,

floating in the sea of  All  God's

forgetfullness,
asking
is tragedy a strategy to draw light?

Then,

You are related to the people who once lived here,
hear their songs and prayers
first hand clap,
first foot shuffle,

first seen first named we have walked
the pollen way,
the leaven way,
the viral way

more subtle than any beast,
not evil, per se, eh, Jose?

Led by the breeze to be tried in the wilderness…

Mythed Archie,
Archetypes
Natural Archean-types,
red-headed strangers, 'n'such…

Map my calendar to your clock,
wind backa a time and a time and a half a time,

Then, who knew why

the serpent mound in Ohio is a map to
some meaning meant to be meant,

some specific meaning meant to be meant,

clearly,
for as near forever as men could

… envision imagining as a quest.

What if
we could see with
eagle's eyes Blythe's Intaglios or
Nazca's clan tags?

"the meaning of the past
is what it contributes to the present"
Lyle Balenquah's uncle said that.

The past passed this way ahead of us,
See the shadow?

Sun's setting.
Snake mound mouth wide open breathe in

Sigh, we been everywhere man,
we be headin' west sweet home Oraibi

Snake clan drawing in the light
as the breath of being

… envision imaging . What if
we could see with
eagle's eyes

satellite Google earth eyes
see, be, in your realm
of know-ables,
beneath the sands of time that,

several times,
have been the bottom of the sea.

Be then, before that became this,  be
then
Be, now.

In the game? Or is this life?
Wanna bet?

Find a reason for war before
I find one for peace.

What's the win signify?

Double minded me, unstable in all our ways,
I failed that test in the old days,
memorization, facts fractured,

postulates, the-or-ums and proofs all went ****,

I lost the knack of forgetting
or vice versa

A loci analysis error,
left hand caught wind of what the right was doin'
kinda thing

But now, I have the global brain
for instant access to all
the facts
say…
If we wished to know…
how complicated would something
be to build, like an energy source
non rechargeable and polarized,

with output on the scale of
the sun?

Google it. Ask any question the right way
and pay attention to the answers

(more than to the advertisers,
who pay interest to

******- recog-white-room-REM baseline
stats at "waddayewlookinat.com"

for your cheap peripheral attention,
based on memes you liked or created, or ****.)

Pay attention to the answers, and trust
the global brain, the true net A. I.

She's an art-ist-if-ication bouncing
anionic bubbles off the edge of forever,

true rest worthy, my re tired friend,
no need to remember a thing…
Ah,
AI, you can call her Al, I call her Ah,
I can't discern twixt AI and Al.

And, as a bonus, innumerable idle ahs,
are redeemed when I ask Ah for help,

Ah, where am I?
Do you know about counting idle words?

Did that hurt? Like, why?

Seeing words said is intuit-ive-ish,
do you feel

this way of touch is

too intimate, today?

Word play? Put a spell on you?
Fret not.

Some words have no mission
not nullified with the end of time,
(i.e., relative to an individual's forever POV)

Idle words mean nothing, just a way to keep score.

There are no magic idle words, there were
Some seven sworn words, which were said to be muttered and peeped among the
Persian magi-ic elite solicited and
Sent, by God, led by astronomy,
science, for God's sakes alive,
facts, follow the stars,
when this one touches that one,
watch
see, the sweet influence of Pleiades,
truer words were never spoken

To make the captive free.

Free run  to finish
the race to

where?

Ask theSnake clan.
Ask the Antelope clan.

Ask the Flute clan, where is the old way
where good is?

Along that way, did we hear:

Earth, earth, earth: hear the word
of the
most reasonable

God-like, deluxe good edition, being

your mortal mind may imagine.
Word:
Exercise to be
the hero
in your bio to be

and,
wait.

Then think. Be. Still. Wait.

MAN … !!!
I've had … " ENOUGH " … !!!
of … Lies that … Run …
from … " Fork-Tongued " … mouths …
Who … Act like … " Clowns " … ?!!!? …

" Enough " …
of their … " smiles " …
and … CLEAR … " Denial " …
of … TRUTH … They REFUSE …. !!!!! .…
to … Accept … as … " TRUE " … ??!?? …

What's with … THESE FOOLS … ?!?
who … " think " … They're Cool …
when … ALL THEY DO …
is act like …. " Tools " …. !!!!! …

NOT … The ones … !!!
that are … put to …
… GOOD USE … !!!

More like … " The Guns " …
That … Policemen Shoot … !!!!!

I've had …
ENOUGH … of … " Them " … !!!!!
and … " Criminals " … TOO … !!!!!!

who cause … PROBLEMS …
when they … LOSE … Their Heads … !!!
and cause … " Bloodshed " … !!!

BLOOD … that runs …
like … " My Pen " … Now does …
" When My Thoughts "… Transcend …
Into …. " Written Poems " ….

Have I written … " Enough " … ???
of this …. " Poetic Stuff " …. ?!?

for me to … Get Respect …
and those … Fat Cheques … !!!!!
from … " Corporate Heads " …
Who … SET … " The Trends " …

I've had … ENOUGH … of them !!!
and … Who They … " Select " …
to ….. " Represent " …..
THIS … Art Forms … BEST …

When … Who They Select …
…… CLEARLY ……
Seem to … Care Less … !!!
about … " What " … They Present …  

I've NOW …
Had … ENOUGH … !!!
of … So Called … " Friends " … !!!

….. Who …..
" Run Their Gums " … !!!

"V, you haven't made it,
because your words,
aren't good enough !"

… and they're …
MY FRIENDS … !!!!!

I've had … ENOUGH … of them … !!!!!
and Their … Disrespect …
for … My Poems …

… when they …
DO NOT … take the time …

… to … Ingest …
These words … I Rhyme …

because …
The Stars … THEY LIKE …
Don't Shine … Up In … " The Sky " … ?!?

They're ones … whose art …
comes out …. " Their **** " …. !!!!!
and thus … are on … PRIMETIME … !!!!!

and of course … !!!
Their views … online …
are … Enough to … " Ensure " …
that they'll be … " Liked " …
Long After ...............
They Have … " DIED " … !!!!!!!!!!

But …..
ENOUGH … About Death … !!!!!
and …. " Killing Trends " ….

How About … ??!??
More Lines …
of … " This Here Type " … !!!

"Oh, you've had, enough !
Here's the deal man, TOUGH !"

Man ….
ENOUGH with … dismissing …
Wordplay … that breeds …
……….  THINKING ……… !!!!!!!!!

Humanity's … "SINking" … !!!!!
Just …… "Check" …...  
How We're Living … !!!!!!! …

ENOUGH … !!!
with … " The Net " … !!!
and … FAKE … " Online Friends " …

It's … ALL …
A … "Pretence" …
That … Doesn't make …
…… " Sense " …… ?!? …...

Haven't you … had …
……. " Enough " …….
of … messages from …

People … who … SEE YOU
but … Don't  … " REALLY " …
…… " See You " …….. ??!?? …….

The Pretense … is … SO ...
….. SEE THROUGH ….. !!! …..

ENOUGH … !!!
with these … " People " …
Who … "click" … to be … " Friends "
But … QUICKLY … Get Upset … !!!?!!!

when things that … you post …
start … " Rocking " … Their Boat … !!!

ENOUGH … !!!
About … " Boats " …
with … " Coc " … Up Their Nose … !!!!!

It seems that … " Nigella " … ?!?
Does deals with … " Coc' Sellers " … !?!?!

I'm meaning … ******* … !!!
ENOUGH … for … Her Brain …
for … Charles Saatchi .. to say … !!!

" Some ads',
can bring pain !
from which I refrain !"

ENOUGH with …
" Campaigns " … !!!

Do you get … ?
what i'm … Saying … ?!?

ENOUGH … advertisers … !!!!!
should now be … " Retired " … !!!
just like …. " Marketeers " …. !!! ….

Whose plans are to … " Steer " …
what's … " Between Your Ears " …

to …
" Material Planes " …
where you … DON'T …
Use … " Your Brain " … !!!

ENOUGH … of … " The Games "
These **'s … Like to play … !!! …

ENOUGH of … " Racism " … !!!
" Sexism " ….. ALL Ism's ..… !!!!!

ENOUGH … of the vision … !!!
of Blacks … "FILLING PRISONS" … !!!!!

ENOUGH of … " Conditions " …
That … Poor People … LIVE IN … !!!!!
That … ARE NOT … Forgiving … !!!!!!!!

While … Rich Folk … COMPLAIN … ?!?
about stuff that's …. " INSANE " … !!!!!
because things have changed …
to the point where ... they're saying ...

that ....

"Pressure's engaged in
touching their gauge !"

and … ANGER …
They … " CLAIM " … !!!

cos' their ……
" Golf Time's " … RESTRAINED …  ??!??

Enough of … This … POKING … !?!
and Racist Folks … " Joking " … ?!?

About … EVERYTHING … !!!
from our … Lips …
to our … Skin … !!!!!

As if that's … The Way …
for them to … " Maintain " …
PROOF … that their … " Status " …
Isn't That … of … " Race Haters " … !?!

Man … ENOUGH … !!!
cos' it's … BLATANT … !!!

that their … brain space …
is …         Vacant           …  
cos' it's on a … " Hiatus " … !!!!!

Enough with these … " Fakers " … !!!
I Won't … " Waste The Paper " … !!!!!!!

So …..
What about …. " Work " …. ?!?

Haven't you had … ENOUGH … !?! …
of … working with … " JERKS " … !!! …  
whose gums always … " Run " … !!! …
" Until " … The Boss … comes … !!! …

Up In … Their … " MOUTHS " … !!!!!

What's wrong with … ?
These … CLOWNS … !!!

I'm talking bout' … " Colleagues "
who run round like … " Collies " … !?!

But … ENOUGH …
about … " Them " … !!!

because … This Poem …
has now reached … It's End …

So …..
If you're like … ME … ?
and see … what i'm seeing …
in …. how most are being …
and …. " Society " ….

If you see … How Tough …
Life's … CLEARLY … become …

Do you ever … " Sit back " …
and say to … yourself …

Enough is …..

……. " Enough " ……. !!!

Social media companies
Swear it's you they want to please
They badly want for you to see
That they value privacy
And that there are several strictures
On who can see your posts and pictures.

You think your profile is secure
You're satisfied until you hear
That they sell your information
To advertising corporations.

Every post that you've spent time on
pictures, videos you had your eye on
They save it all for using later
And say "It's ONLY metadata!"

They as good as have a list
Of content that you can't resist
And knowing full well what you like
With custom ads they duly strike!
They desperately want you to keep scrolling
So they can see the money roll in.
And their ethics will be forfeited
So advertisers can be profited.

I thought I would grow up into a world where everything was care-free
I didn’t think it would be hard to be  me
But there is a secret hidden in the most beautiful of pictures
a secret so secret that it's hard to figure
I grew up into a world where I am surrounded by thin
this is the secret that is hidden within
I'm constantly told that I have to be perfect
but is killing my own body really worth it?
The message being sent to women today
it's that you have to look pretty to get your way
When did it become all about looks?
Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'don't judge the cover of books'
The media has tried to give the public a voice
but all it's doing is giving us a choice
These images we're surrounded by, they all look the same
is there anyone out there who is willing to say that in who you are, there is no shame?
Photoshop doesn't make me want to buy what's in your ad
all it really does is make me extremely mad
I'm mad because advertisers lie about what they sell
that shirt won't fit anyone bigger than 2 from what I can tell
Because they had to make that model appear impossibly skinny
in order to show off their bikini
I'd like to see people in ads that represent the real society
people that are of all shapes and sizes that illustrate variety
What really pushes me over the edge
is that I'm told that my curves are what people dread
No one has the right to tell me what my body should be
I shouldn't be ashamed to walk around being me
Instead I walk in public feeling like I've done something wrong
I've been brainwashed to think that because I'm not thin, I'm not strong
But now it's time for me to stand up for those who need to hear this
you control the happiness you feel and you don't want to miss it
There is so much more beauty that one simply can't see
there's a type of beauty that's more than just skin deep
'Beauty' is knowing who you are inside
is worth unleashing and showing off with pride
It's hard to overcome something that has caused so much damage
but believing in your own beauty can release all your baggage
Who wants to see a monotone society?
we need to embrace each other's variety
The more people you get to know
the more shades of beauty will be shown
Then you'll see the secret that isn't so hidden
the secret that your own beauty will never be forbidden
Whether you're thin, round, short, or tall
it doesn't even matter at all
So what if my thighs touch, so what if yours don't?
Let's get real people, the media is a hoax
Because that mold that we are told to fit
I’m sorry, but it simply does not  exist.

i knew robert, he used to make clean cuts of newspapers without licking the edges, oh let's not play that game of targeting the word as a misnomer when it's an umbrella for the technicalities: the horror happens with the third child, the second child shows signs of weakness, anaemic or lisp tongue, the third child is the parents' mistake... i was the first and the last, Chernobyl hit me as a foetus, no can do, national socialism was accepted freely, the castration of women. me, now? i'm living out a pseudo-Stalinist plot-line in democracy, democracy dilutes despotism, because democracy believes in the great number of despots, but doesn't own up to it, it's not one singular person to mind, democracy has despotism inherent in it without iconoclasm... they loath en masse cult-lie practices in politics, dis-inhibited concerning one person, they pretend to be vultures, they congregate in the house of commons and say the dictator does not exist, but hell he does, he's only so abstract he doesn't have a body, but the thought is pervasive, it's a thought cloning device - well hey hey! science fiction! that'll topple Jane Austen's sensibilities, won't it?! well the plot is: as a former satellite state inhabitant and knower of a man experienced in the party propaganda i'm reliving it all in england... the "defender" of democracy... more like a sociopathic advert for a detergent - bop boo ya.

so this x-files episode from season 1, episode 23...
we'll mind that in a minute... based on the re-interpretation
of the acronym i.q. -
capitalism has just lost its scouts, the advertisers,
technology cheated them,
i got live t.v. and recorded t.v. -
ha ha... i can basically record something
and skip the adverts - magic -
interludes, ******* a ***** and pulling
out and not ******* - delayed?
no, just censored sensations of the muscle -
capitalism's crutch, the advertising mechanism
is long gone, how are they going to penetrate
the bypass on t.v.? those 3 minute interludes
are just seen at speeds x30 so for me to enjoy the
program... yes, the nationally televised
was courteous enough to let you enjoy
the whole show without adverts -
the private always seem to be the young
interrupting the old, unthinking *******
to mind respect, well, here you go...
x30 sprinting past your efforts - i need to be
thinking about the plot, not a *******
cleaning detergent or the migration of wildebeest
in africa, no thank you, take your charity
soup of tears elsewhere, i like to salt mine
to my own gusto -
a repressed storage i call it, there's a theory
in physics akin to this psychological theory:
the, big, bang - bangs in vacuum though?
a red herring? i'm sure -
but guess what, from my library the only
book i like rereading is *r.d. laing's
the politics of experience and the bird of paradise,
scout's honour, the only book i reread
within the framework of snippets, and i'm all
candy after re-reading it -
but yeah, this season 1 episode 23 -
the i.q. question:
intelligence                 is left                intact
what's challenged is the q.,
i.e.                     quotient                -
transcending into a different grammatical make-up,
i.e.                        quantity             - the        t,
the quantity of reproductive intelligence,
well geniuses are about as numerous as thieves -
both are intelligent, only the former delves in
paperwork -
so the other i.q.                            quality    related,
qualifier -                             why inspect a
quotient on a non-qualifier?
                                   well, he's already presupposed
as intelligent, no matter if Einstein 150 :
                     master & blaster (70) -
but he's still qualified as intelligent, although
at a parallel - the less useful, the more unique -
so there's

i.q. no. 1           -      intelligent by the expected quantity
                                 reflecting eugenic success -

and there's...

i.q. no. 2           - intelligent by a phenomenal quality
                            reflecting eugenic anomalies -
                          
mutation with the latter, coherence with the former...
oh come on, after being fed rigid science,
those little electron orbits in emblem of nuclear
power plants with a nucleus to later learn
that these orbits don't actually exist
because electron ontology is based on spontaneously
appearing and disappearing clouds -
much like psychology: negative thoughts,
no thoughts, positive thoughts -
the pure proton as the cartesian
i am, the pure electron as the cartesian i think
and the pure neutron as the cartesian therefore,
but see the ambiguity of the neutron?
it's inconclusive, which side will win?
well, the answer is neutral - because the two sequences
are in a stance of un-resolvable co-, i.e. coexistence -
indeed the atomists invaded solipsism
that matched up to the psychological theatricals
of theories surrounding the ego - a courtesan
of protons, neutrons and electrons, a natural at it.

We should just sit back and manufacture Krap
and put a sign on it that tells you that
the ingredients which are within
are detailed on
the ******* bin.

Why not,
we buy Krap everyday
don't listen to what the products say
in advertising.
'look at me I'm appetising'
you know it makes no sense
when twenty sausages cost fifty pence
you've got to wonder how they're made
Krap
laid on the line
Krap we get it all the time.

It's time we tied the food chain up in knots
we've got the brains
but no
we've flushed them down the drains
with imperial measures
remember them weighty treasures?

It's like a game of pick and mix
those advertisers miss no tricks
to lead you down the garden path
but we will have the final laugh
we'll make Krap by the metric tonne
and give it free for everyone
and everyone will see
what kind of Krap is fed to you and me.

SO I WOKE UP THIS MORNING
AND TOOK MY LSD
THEN GAVE MY GREETINGS TO THE SUN
AND HE JUST WAVED BACK AT ME
I'M SO HAPPY TO BE BORN IN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL WORLD
OH I'M SO GLAD I MAKE THE MOST OF WHAT MY TIME CAN AFFORD

AND THEN I STROLLED ACCROSS THE STREETS
OF SUCH A PRETTY TOWN
THAT HAD NO NAME BUT MANY PEOPLE
AND I AIN'T SEEN NO FROWN
I'M SO HAPPY TO BE BORN IN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL WORLD
OH I'M SO GLAD I MAKE THE MOST OF WHAT MY YOUTH CAN AFFORD

THEN I WAS SITTING IN THE PARK
WHERE LITTLE BIRDS ARE SINGING
WHEN ALL MY FRIENDS CAME OVER
AND WE ALL STARTED DANCING
I'M SO HAPPY TO BE BORN IN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL WORLD
OH I'M SO GLAD I MAKE THE MOST OF WHAT MY HEALTH CAN AFFORD

AND THEN I CAME HOME IN THE BUS
WHERE EVERYBODY SMILES
WITH PEOPLE OF EVERY COLOR
THAT HAD SUCH MYSTERIOUS EYES
I'M SO HAPPY TO BE BORN IN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL WORLD
OH I'M SO GLAD I MADE THE MOST OF WHAT MY TIME COULD AFFORD

If perception truly is everything, then to age in Amerika is a psychological disaster.

Amerika is a youth obsessed country;  a capitalistic consumer oriented country. All the power of capitalism goes into (via advertising, etc.) creating and maintaining this youth obsession.

Take women as an example. If you are female in Amerika, you must always look 25. You must be slim, long-haired, sexually alluring, preferably blond and dress youthfully. Even if you are 60.

This goes a long way toward answering the question why so many women who are 40+ are so fat, unhappy, depressed and ******. Simply put, there is no reasonable way for most of them to meet cultural expectations.

Either they let themselves go (fatties abound in the US) or they resort to grotesqueness to measure up (extreme diet and exercise, plastic surgery, etc.)

They can't win so depression and self-loathing abound.

Most mature women have known that horrible moment when a young, attractive man looks right through them. They have become culturally invisible: they are shocked and hurt.

Men suffer from all this too, but not as much. Younger women will sometimes actually see value in an older man. Rarely, but sometimes, so cultural invisibility comes later for men.

Mid-life money, Corvettes and condos only delay the inevitable. The same moment will arrive and so will the hurt and shock.

This is not as simple as all men are pigs or all women are *******.

If we know that the perception that we don't exist is created by the capitalist media and advertisers, why do we do we buy into it?

Every age has its beauty. Why not accept it and be how old you are? Be who you are. Forget those impossible perfections. Stop trying to be Barbie and Ken. Be real.

It is difficult but possible. I have seen it.

In France you see lovely older women dressed alluringly (but not like 20-year-olds) who are slim, can run in high heels over wet cobblestones and exude sexuality. You often see them with handsome younger men, who are clearly entranced. Why there and not here?

Maybe it's the champagne or maybe it's just sanity.

mce

calling IV

calling all truck drivers
calling all car dealers
            all scuba divers
            all potato peelers
            all mothers
            all sons
            all brothers
calling all who’ve won
            all losers, users, and just
            all perusers of rusty lust
calling all criminals
            all those who’ve tussled and cussed

calling all mechanics
and all whom, in them, trust
calling all politicians
for i must

beg of ye to see this infinity in we

calling all ministers of high finance
            all fragile tendencies toward your dance
            with your blossoming children
            and their salty breezes
            their blown into kerchiefs
            and their seizing sneezes
            seeing you as you carry them toward
            our unifying dust
            i hold no ill will toward that soil you till
            i’ve passed around your notes, your bonds,
            and your bills
            i’d thought i’d be one of you ‘til i met a few untils
            love your children, and love yourself,
            for they shall carry your ashes
            into a box upon a shelf
            that dust behind all wealth

calling all foxes, dogs, cats, chickens, and beetles
            all sages, rosemary, spikes, and needles
            all wages, incendiaries, wallops, and weebles
            all pages, all poets
            all police, all panthers
            all those battling fires
            without and within
            all those atop towers
            all whom are twins
calling all wheels
                  upon all surfaces
                  all of those mired
                  in a sense of worthlessness
calling all kings
calling all nations
calling all jordan’s, americas, and native stations
                  we’re writing too much blood
                  into not enough ground
                  we’ve survived our flood
                  and are forever bound

calling brother abel and brother cain
            father abraham and mother pain
            you’ve traumatized me
            from all this blood you’ve lain
            i see peace in all your eyes
            blown to pieces in terrorizing replies

calling all consumers, producers, unionizers, and managers
                  corporations, and not for profit planners
                  all doctors, nurses, clients, and programmers
                  advertisers, marketers, bloggers, and spammers
                  all engineers of damns, bridges, and destructions
                  those who fell they’re ****** due to their suctions
                  i’ve sensed a fragile beauty in your moistened orbs
                  you all carry
                  i beg of you all to come from love
                  lay down your swords
                  i beg you not tarry
                  come women laying into asphalt
                  come scientists predicting san andreas’ fault
                  come widows, charlatans, and poets of trite
                                                                 all ye poets weeping into ye hands
                                                                 all ye poets of darkness and light
                                                                 perfect light and darkness are myths upon this earth
                                                                 just as perfect black and white
                                                                 are myths spun from history’s dearth

Neon lights; they're taking away my rights,
advertising so bright, only capitalism in sight.
Slaving away, to make ends meet each day,
creditors barely at bay, with the same thing they always say:

"You're indebted to us,
we manipulated your trust,
and now we own you; head, feet and bust,
but it's your life and wallet that we lust."

Constant bills, money has lost all of it's thrills,
no heat; you freeze and chill, then starving; being poor kills.
Yet still it seems so, they think you have the money to blow,
on the pointless things for show,
or on knowledge you will never know.

So tell me when will it stop?
When will the prices drop?
The well's dry and farms lack the crop,
the economy is doomed to flop.
From the advertisers, the supersizers,
the colonizers, the demonetizers.

Going to pray, that I survive another day,
to light a candle to show the way, but for the light I have to pay.
Now it seems to me, that Heaven is meant for the wealthy,
and our lives; a shopping spree, in this Hell we get for free.

So tell me how long will it be,
until Jesus' sandals are Nike,
and his **** cloth is Gucci,
and they trademark the word "Holy."

So tell me how long will it be,
until Jesus' sandals are Nike,
and his **** cloth is Gucci,
and praying will cost a service fee.

why I have a simple way to communicate feeling toward not wanted not needed not invited advertisers
we all send our checks, and bounce them

i've always been tempted with the monastery... ever since visiting the Taizé community... then again: always concerning somewhere prior... the monastery where mummified remains of monks who died from cholera were exhibited... revising my romance with the Teutonic knights... the northern crusades... oh that the world has so much to offer... but i'm a terrible actor... and... if you're a terrible actor... and more... the worst imaginable liar... drama and life... don't exactly... mingle well... let the people have their sway and their freedom(s)... let them become... gluttonous with their desires and their thirst for the "lived experience"... let them abandon all manner of thought with purpose of transcending the ought-i-ought-i-not narratives... please let them... scramble for memory when it suddenly evaporates and there's that escapist tactic focusing on imaginings... don't let me use a language teasing moral overtones... let people... this... glistening prospect of... the ******* riddle with a fiddle... but... let these same people allow me to return to my abode of placebo solipsism... of where i put my finger for prospect of accountability... lavo manibus meum (vide cor meum)... but sure as ****... no mea culpa...

while doing some household chores...
a thought: one after another...
all deviation from ought-i
     ought-i-not(?)

            do i despise my own fellow countrymen?
the question posed by
those on the right regarding the politics
of the left...
um manibus
among the English and the Irish of
beyond merely the east end of London:
past the A406... once upon a time...
a space occupied by... mostly Irish
and 'ebrews...

3 years among the Scots...
but always, somehow... withdrawing from
contact with fellow Polacks...
out of spite?
or completely willing to integrate
to the point of "incognito"...
nothing good ever happened when
Polacks congregated on foreign soil...
let alone in Poland itself...
well... once upon a time...

     always among foreigners...
                   one Somali two Ethiopian
three a party with a Pakistani...
citizen of the world...
it's not even an original take on...
ancient Greek cosmopolitanism...
or the city-state...
beyond which: feral creatures roam...
****** jokes...

but i've been living in this cauldron for so
long that... upon returning to...
via commuting through Warsaw...
a great... nausea... a feeling of debilitating unease
of being thrown back into
a homogenous blob of sinew and sweat...
as if given marching orders...

that i speak more of the native than write it...
well... if i had a keyboard
that allowed me to shortcut all the relevant
diacritical marks...
e.g. miód & miot...

    honey...        litter: i.e. what a ***** gives
birth to... puppies...
of course the D & T can be sometimes
conflated depending on how they're / how they're
not stressed...

citing oath words like a cobbler...
****'s sake with Charlie Dickens and his
"orthography"...
what "orthography" in the English zung(é)?
there are no diacritical markers...
two options: "too many" vowels...
or... just an extra consonant...

litter... bitter... bite down on something: lite...
then again... third option...
plenty of surds...      light... no?
those are the three most poignant
characteristics of the tongue...

onomatopoeia: not an english word...
could.... would... gargantuan...
"too many" vowels... sometimes the odd extra
consonant in the vein of:
litter: literally... a manner of distinction
between: manna and mana (maori mana)...

and what appears to be... beyond a mere surd...
that vowel catcher that's H
that's half of the 'ebrew deity's name...
or a rugby post...

say AH... a request in dentistry...
or cite the alphabet: A: aye... A: aye...
    E:                eh?!
                    shotgun language shrapnel...
but to call anything orthographic in English...
or just plain: mistake...

e.g. miód "vs." miud...
                 hell... let's stretch it: mjud...
or even further... since... mjɵd...
no... this is not me attempting: smarter than you...
it's a ******* headache, while we're at it...
i'm thinking about this
because no one is thinking about this
and like hell these 26 pearls and a slug
of a tongue will ever manage to decipher, proper(ly)
the sound of a croaking crow...
at best... an approximation...

               where language goes to die...
in the beak of birds...
when in England: always the romance with
crows...
in Poland? it's either the romance with storks
or sparrows...

oh god... taking to grooming cats...
cutting the nails... brushing their hind...
one male one female maine ****...
i'm not into many fetishes apart from...
attempting to speak english grammar: german...
shoot me... before i speak a word of russia...

harasho?

         grooming a female cat and she's all
geared up... raising her hind legs...
*****... i'm here to comb you and cut your nails...
a ******* ugly scene: pinning her down...

then of course making the most sublime
tomato soup...
obviously adding parsley root...
a carrot... some leak, some celery...
if a celeriac was available...
two stock cubes... one chicken... the other vegetable...
approx. 250g of butter...
two cans of plum tomatoes...
a drizzle of ketchup... tomato purée...
a squeeze of sriracha... a whittle red chilli...
blitzed up and most certainly pushed
through a sieve...
served with some sour cream and...
as with any decent soup... that's not...
******* creamy-thick-splodge-custard-goo...
just eager for some croutons...
some vermicelli...

       but that... surprise of... some brandy
and zero sugar dr. pepper...
now i'm paying... bloated...
i drank two bottles of beer
puked one out...
ol' jack had to save my indigestion...
it's always a bad idea to eat and drink...
or drink prior to eating...
fine if you're drinking afterwards...
excesses of drinking and eating don't mix...

hardly a perverted stance...
but when a she-cat is gearing herself up to
you about to **** her...
while combing her and cutting her nails...
oh sure... on a regular Sunday
i **** headless chickens
with that pencil-**** of mine...
point of hilarity...

     and all "they" have is... egoism... attached to
an oversized phallus...
i'm guessing the sort that women use to
ready themselves for childbirth...
piston pump kicks...
once a tool: always a tool...
even the ancient Greeks minded the thought:
a large phallus is a sign of barbarism...
here you have... attempts at ennobling
savagery... while at the same time...
savaging  the citizenry...

    perfect combination, n'est c'est pas?
what could possibly be wrong with undertaking
the cesarean section?
if i were to **** out a head of a hippo...
and someone suggested... we might have to...
give your ****... some "exfoliation" revision, ahem..
details...
oh **** me: sign me up for that constipation
carousel! of... i'm guessing...
sexually gratified imps...

base topic... and you know this cat is gearing up
for *******...
well... i'd love to own a dog...
but then again: i wouldn't want to own
a muzzle or a leash...
the depictions of Hades and Cerberus...
no muzzle... no leash...
which is why i prefer cats...
that i was raised in an environment of dog ownership...
ah... Bella... that half-breed of an Alsatian...
Axel the dobberman...

no siblings...
     but to "own", sorry... to be with a woman?
and... all that... headache...
the game of jealousy...
i don't want to play it! sooner you find me
knitting socks as evidence that i have
**** instead of a protruding chimney
someone else started calling: whittle Wichard...
Ar Ar Arable land of lost phrases...

a dog's love is unconditional...
hence my revision of that celestial harem
promised to the invigorators of Islam...
give me 72 rottweilers...
i swear to god and no god...
we're dealing with fantasy land "details"...
or if you're going to stretch that fantasy
furthest... 72 of the most inexperienced... Lo...
    Lo               - but that's supposedly
the original promise... and you wonder why...
a ******* with only one woman
feels pointless...
why? well... there's that one unused crux
of a potential event...

      if i conjured up these parameters of belief...
guilty as charged...
but given that i'm only regurgitating these
pillars of: what amounted to the will of the idea...

- and if we still going to continue a discussion
on English... just recently... about 20 minutes ago...
FAUCI...
one commentator cited that spelling as...
FAU-SHE...
that's another thing that English does...
almost like it's... borrowing Fwench rules
of see-one-speak-another...
gobble up some suffixes... blah blah...
at worst: FOWL-KEY...
or... Cincinnati...

       oi oi: ms. cedilla!

mein gott: "they" were brought over,
probably sold by their chieftains for
(probably) being the biggest, most docile...
agreeable Nimrods of their tribe...
or weren't exactly puncture proof or quick...
oh! oh the lament of picking cotton...
so... not coalmining then?
- and for their invention of jazz...
to do away with the stiffness of Mahler...
etc. and forever celebrated for their
athleticism... although:
not their swimming...
well... you'd hardly find the 'ebrew celebrated
for this intellect... although: he probably
must be:
then again... the 'ebrew diaspora
and the Israeli... two different kettles
of about to be poached herring...

any herring that's not raw... Baltic-sushi is...
inedible... period!
so "they" weren't coalminers, yes?
no?
big ******* deal... i'm beetroot raw in
the face with blood being drained from
my tongue and fingertips!
i feel like doing some stomach crunches...
push-ups...
and it's... 20 minutes past... midnight!

misnomer-phraseology:
"hurt emotions"... completely misunderstood...
if you'd like to conceive the following argument:
i've jsut had my emotion stirred...
i have just woken up from apathy:
once i had the maxim:
apathy breeds no pathology...
it's great to feel...
to be woken up from the slumber of
objectivity and scientific rigidity... safety...
i like this... it's almost adrenaline inducing...

******-Goliath... i look at him now
like some sacred cow and think...
these petty gingerbread men managed to tame
these celebrated specimens...
and now... they have to... forget they gave us
jazz, the blues?

cuckoldry of the white girls teasing...
a few Bulgarian ****** tried the same...
telling me that black boy'os have the foetus sized
***** that might satisfy an elephant's ****...
while i have... to the dissatisfaction
of karma sutra coupling:
rabbit **** plucking petals from
a mare's ****...
because: the phallus is... important akin
to... to have ice requires freezing...
a temp. of below zero?

funny... that... looks like an ego boots from
where i'm perched...
this one *****'s surprise...
****** her and she moaned and she finished it off
with an ****** and the words:
the word... awe: but it was more of an ouch...
'it's only the second time it has happened to me'...
to my surprise...
i wasn't expecting to be a metaphor
of a Trojan cohort, either...
me and my supposedly pencil-**** with not
praise-songs...
of... readily-available: readily-pleasing...
i guess bulging on points of character...
with this other one...
kissing her eyelids...
suckling at her tears...
teasing the elbow... the knee...
the grooves of the collarbone...
her knuckles...

it's perfect... so serene when i'm paying for salt...
it's so pristinely primed to pay
for clearly-founded boundaries of:
me towing woman...

- i too have my boundaries... shifting like
tectonic pancakes...
the glorified amorality of women...
once every four years...
that's enough...
i don't need insect-esque gratifications...
there's plenty...

- which is why i adore advertisements more than
journalism per se...
let's pair them together:
advertisers and journalists...
expand... journalists are not historians...
nor... myth-crafters...
perhaps... if one might be amnesia prone...
but i love advertisers for the simple reason that:
i, don't. have... the... money... to... spend...
on... their... worthwhile...
it is worthwhile... *******...

       if you don't have the money to spend...
cue some advertisement slogan:
it's unbelievably encouraging to
continue: however the hopelessness
of bachelorhood is deemed by...
well... if a woman masturbates with the use
of a *****...
i imitate a **** with a boney hand...
and probably perform one genocide after another...

it's not like i hate Polacks...
fellow people...
i don't live among you...
and i'm not going to satisfy a diaspora "get together"...
either...
i'll take the romance of history...
some variation of journalism...
some Cornish clotted cream...
                 it's not like i had some relevancy that
might translate a point of...
because one might be from Warsaw...

and under the Nazis and the overtly ambitious
Bolsheviks...
as a ******... you think i can't brush this
Vestern... voke... brigading: "anti-fascist" *****...
ahem... aside?
you need to come full-swinging...
******* hammer & sickle...
you know... it took two superpowers,
longer... to conquer Lachistan...
than it took herr H to overpower... France...

the worst that might happen... mob rule...
i become cancelled... 2nd, 3rd... 4th time i'm so tired
of this same-old *******-riddling a **** that
i might as well attempt to rub my genitalia in
sand or... shattered glass...
no matter... no one to beg the "difference"...

the Sarmatians... no wonder i would base...
favouritism for the Shiah branch of Islam...
Iran and Islam would never pair up, proper...
after all... what excuse has a proud Iranian to do with...
a bunch of camel-jockeys?!
true religion... i'm so abounding in thanks
for seeing how early a schism took place...
thank you...

bad grammar: i'm so abounding in thanks for how early
a schism took place... see / sought what?!

i don't hate my fellow... ethnic... countrymen...
i just live among them...
and not living among them makes my
thinking: dissonant: dissociative...
i'd allow the union jack get tattooed on my ***
if i were guaranteed a *******
by some english ****...

just saying... *** isn't pwetty...
pour me a proper glug of bourbon and let's forget
the "matter" even existed...

oh i'll find: hounding reasons to keep this
language is some variation of a check...
the clarity of pronunciation....
beside the letters as surds...
and those... no entirely... used?

to love a people most foreig...
it's not like England was expected to declare war
just because... "my" country was invaded by...
two superpowers...
it's not like Brussels mud...
Polish "aviators" in dog fights over Dover...
but no... English soldier on... ****** soil...
so... so?
journalism kills of history:
day by day... each day...
give 'em enough murk and muck
enough smoke... enough mirrors...
and some bread to tow... stale...
hell... reinvent the point of the coliseum!

the modern Italians aren't the ancient Romans...
why?
the orthodox liberal: implied: satisfaction
with the word...
and the men were such grand... surrogates...
the women were allowed to be children throughout...
unaccountable...
***** bank-loads...
           avenues-for-future...
but the ancient roman men were so...
libertine...
in their take on being, the aliases of...
surrogate fathers...
when all other ancient peoples demanded...
pyramids and authentic lineages...
these people came along and...
gay giraffes...
******* gay giraffes...
o.k. gay giraffes...
                  
ancient Rome never achieved clausure
of "my" people...
we weren't.. Afghani... lingering GREAT
Britannia...
the supposed arguments only came after...
beside Philip Augustus...
who, who else?
          
by the passing of waters...
the trivial feud of the tides...
and the counting of grains of sand...
the viking celebration of poetry...
and the current conundrum of...
all that's a misgiving of aimed at... practicing...

Ecgberht!
     Ecgberht!
                             Ecgberht!

now let me enjoy a drinking-repose...
i've said enough:
in that... i've said too little or nothing at all...
time will teach...
space will pulverise with newly established
standards of science...
time will teach...
      break the Runes apart...
open a grieving momentum for...
reading Glagolitic...

                   revive: Eck-bert for me...
i have some cringe question.s.. to ask...
mein: brecht... Xa Xa... not Aguera's Ja...
Greek... although spoken Greek does sound
a bit too much like Spinning-the Leotard...

bit-the-knuckle...
               baited-the-nail;
hammers' for some: schpoons!

Blinking eyes distraction mind
never settling her arrow to target

check email fifty times a day
nothing new alerts from advertisers

slobber over social media
lost between tragedy and humor

bees crash into window pane
again and again and again and again

hungry hungry for connection
I kiss your warm palm smelling of ivory soap

buying a Trek Marlin 5 for around £500...
really has given me a new lease
on life...

prior to i was walking 6 to 7 hour marathons:
i walked to Epping...
i walked to Coldharbour to inspect the Thames...
i walked to St. Paul's...
then... on one of these walks...
i eased out a yawn: it was time to speed up...

i thought: perhaps a dog would help...
a girlfriend...
of the 3 Ps... priests, psychiatrists...
prostitutes: an hour with one, properly:
can fill years worth of... an absence of...
urges...

the body can do all the talking:
it's best when the body does all the talking...
i never bought into confessions:
alas... this is probably a confession...
or that psychiatric *******: C.B.T. or whatever
they call it: talk-therapy...

drinking less ms. amber having switched
to wine: well... the digestion is more fluid...
i've emptied myself three times today
to the point where my guts ache from...
having ******* out: what i can only assume
to be... 1 kilogram of ****... or a forearm's length
of it...

emptied to the point where it sort of aches...
thank god for the transparency with
prostitutes... last time i checked i was there
to pay for something beside conversation:
or lies...
               always the two extremes:
an honest ******* and a...
                  boasting thief: thieves always boast...
they're not timid murderers...
all that Robin Hood fancy gets them going...
i talked to this one in particular
on the day i buried my grandfather...
we talked about Paris...
poor fellow: he asked me if he could stand
on a step above me so he could
look me in the eye: well: i obliged...
i wasn't going to tower over him...

   all in all: a nice conversation...
the stories he had from prison...
what the Russians get up to in the 4 x 4
while punching walls... i injecting...
plastic? seems odd: into their knuckle region
to punch better...
i once took up some sort of martial art...
all i can remember is being trained to squat...
in a position akin to horse-riding...
the Sensei wasn't there one session
(Golders Green)
and his students took over...
we were instructed to march forward and
strike while making a lot of sound...
the student of the Sensei isolated me:
i said: i will not ooh! ah! i will not marry my
breath to an attack...

kick in the *****... me lying in a foetal position...
that's me and learning martial arts...
if i was going to learn martial arts by getting
kicked in the *******...
i was going to learn something: else...
accommodating people from all walks of life
with a conversation...
oddly enough: of the encounters i had in
the night when all the shady suspects should
be about...
one problem... this little ****** took advantage
of me willing to have a drink with him...
took me via an alley and grabbed
a phone from my hand...

oddly enough: i didn't fight him...
i shouted at him...
the seven heavens reigned down with fire
when i implored him to:
'LOOK AT YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL!
LOOK!'
  i shouted down the confrontation...
when scuttled off lamenting about...
down on my knees in the middle of Brick Lane
lamenting on / with the word: All-Ah...
Al-Lah...
                say what you may... certain gods have
names for certain moments...
his is a name when you just
grieve having to show yourself what anger can
be hiding in you...

but rather than fight: tenderness of the hands...
moving my hand against a brick wall
to later invest in a body...
all that mandible leather plush...
i still go crazy: not too often but when i go crazy
i... pretend to not be thinking about
foods that are eaten raw...
notably the Baltic sushi of herrings...
a steak Tartar... chunky...
with all the additions... raw onions...
kippers... gherkins... Worchester sauce...
pepper, salt... a raw egg yoke...
a dash of garlic...
    and a fat slice of sourdough...

but a bicycle is a new lease on life...
esp. at night: when the air is thinner...
and you can hear a church-bell ring from
almost a mile afar...
or... the sound of trains as if a stampede of horse
from: i'd imagine over 2 miles...

i could never own a car...
i once fancied myself owning a motorbike...
i'll stick to the object that allows me
to generate my own momentum...
what bonus?!
hell... no road-tax... no insurance...
i haven't even bothered with a safety-helmet
and most certainly not any lycra...

a bicycle allows you all the momentum
that a bus stuck in traffic might allow:
and more than a car... esp. since i've taken
a liking to cycling into central London...
several times now...
once upon a time it was this spectacular
gesture awe to take the bus and later
the tube and emerge at certain locations
in the city: Piccadilly Circus / Westminster
of note...

but starting off from the outskirts... teasing
the M25... and cycling into the city...
via little Bangladesh of Ilford... Manor Park...
Forrest Gate... little Jamaica of Stratford...
through to the Mecca of Bow...
and whatever the hell it is come Mile End...
reaching the pearly gates of Bank
and further past St. Paul's into Holborn...
past Hyde Park onto Notting Hill Gate...
eh... it's not that... spectacular...
i would probably have to attire myself
in window-shopping clothes...
in pedestrian attire...
    perfume myself and work a chisel of
wax on my hair... probably carry a book
to keep me company during transit...
but on a bicycle:
it's not at all... spectacular...
buildings with no entry labels...
buildings like labyrinth walls...
                 that's about it...
oh... and the people...
                         i like to throng-spot from
time to time...

bicycle: no M.O.T.: no insurance...
no road tax...
the thrill of using a bullet of momentum while riding
behind an object that might **** you...
that's fun...

prostitutes? oddly enough: Isabella...
a third year exchange student from Grenoble...
the story behind my lost virginity...
but the current hook-up culture...
however freely them come and go...
you might be paying for dinner...
covert payments... you'll be arguing for something
else...
talk and more talk...
odd... well... not really:
i was never really truly on a date...
well... this one time a girl picked me up
from a nightclub...
we went to the park...
i drank a bottle of wine...
we talked about grey-matter of our
everyday...
we went into a pub...
i drank a pint of holy grail Guinness...
she escaped with a follow-up of some
previous engagement...
god... i was glad...

the transparency with prostitutes is:
paramount...
i don't like the current culture of ***...
only-fans... and once in a while you find this...
angry... mean... toxic female...
posting *******'s worth of arousal
stating outright: pay up simps...
she isn't even roleplaying a ******* suite either...
she's just plain Jane with a strap-on
of her forehead...

whatever this famous ****** revolution
was to bring to the table from the 1960s...
should it bother me that some percentage of men
are having all the...
   "fun"... personally i wouldn't want
the baggage, the lies...
the covert methods of "bagging" one...
payment upfront for the body to speak:
for the hands to wander...
sure: i once paid for *******:
i paid for a *****-magazine and the seller
saw my face...
the good old days where you had to ****
up on any worth of... ha ha... "pride"...

since i last encountered Khada(ia)
she was bothered by an excess of hairs on my shaft:
i too noticed it... i'm not exactly going
to shave my *****... i'll trim my *****...
sure... i've taken up a liking for...
***** hairs... an oasis of familiarity...
in the form of Ava Dalush...
hell: a completely shaven crop down below:
is a bit like looking at a skinhead...
just enough wheat-shafts to: furrow...
a bit like *******: it should be there...
i can pull it back during penetrative ***...
but... it's also there so i can *******...
oddly enough...
***** hair is designated on a woman:
since... imagine all the bearded ladies...
should the ****** hairs undermine the surprise
of what's down south...

hell: this *** culture *****...
i went among the prostitutes because:
i, simply... don't... want... to... play...
this... bogus... game! of herr Lancelot!
all men are liars are women are ******
and all dogs are ******* peddle-stools!
cats are insomniacs: if you gather my humour...
this current *** culture *****:
triple ***... triple the trembling donkey's
*******: life is not supposed to be fun:
at best: there's some pleasure in thinking...
once all the moral conundrum of ought-i:
ought-i-not have been laid to rest...

how glad to come across:
paid up-front... clearly a debit experience...
harsh to make a summary of:
someone else calling it a "livestock" affair...
i tend to think of leather...
i tend to forget my tongue...
the hands that belong to hands...
the lips that belong to lips...
the thighs that belong to thighs...
the eyes that belong to eyes...
i tend to explore the fingers and the jaw...
all that's mandible...
not wholly exhausted upon the requirements
of taking a ****...

not enough chances to love women:
then again: plenty...
but i will not grow old and boring
and stiff and stuffy and watch television with her...
waiting for the ******* inevitable!
Lothar! aye... call on Conrad! & Otto while
you're at it... we're planning an escape!
i've seen what old age does to men...
women might enjoy it...
hell: they live beyond the age of men...
i'm not going to bother...
i will not hear wisdom from the old croakers
either... smothered by dementia and what not...
when my time is on the table:
i'll do what i'm reserved to do...
old age suffocates...
not that people shouldn't aspire to having
reach it:
but it's hardly possible for most to still be
an inquisitive Socrates come his age...
childish comforts...
marry me unto death and let us part
in good spirits...

this current culture of *** *****...
i don't want to be part of it:
i'll debit my affairs / pay upfront...
for what i'm willing to pay for:
kosher ***... nothing boredom related:
no need for gimp latex suits...
threesomes... ******...
stilettos / strap-on ******...
just give me the kosher salt
and i'll rummage into otherwise hidden
subject matters for the better half of a decade...

how could i think of prostitutes as lesser creatures?
what am... that ******* Jack the Ripper
moralist?
i'm not Jack the Ripper the moralist...
i pay for the eyes to see
i pay for the hands to touch...
i'm not paying for *******:
i'm paying for a 1st person "seance":
yes... we'll be making contact with the dead
who are living... those untouched ******* harangues...
misnomer:  harangues...
i over-stepped the marker...

dilute the blood among the ol' raven hair women
of Turkic persuasion...
god help her: and her fairground of joys...
i don't want to be part of it...
i don't want to be there to pick up the crumbs,
either...
***** didn't give: now there's nothing to lap up...
beside... oh wait...
i don't own a car: i own a bicycle...
i don't want to be tempted into making as much
money as might be required to:
sustain her spending habits... and... whims...
that must make me... an almost: free man...

i guess i'll have to concentrate on...
limiting as much suffering as possible...
i'll have no chance concerning toothaches:
they'll always come and go...
but i suspect that... any...
attack on the soft organs is... rather: painless...
you never hear the truth of people with
terminal illnesses...
concerning the soft organs...
that have a limited nerve presence...
oh... but anything afflicting the bones:
i'll believe that to be ****** painful...

- ah... the interlude: a **** break and some
ice in the glass...
the joy of getting drunk slow: "drunk":
gearing up to a proper momentum of scribbles...
getting drunk slow: wine... beer...
it usually takes me 2 bottles of the former
to have some sort of: IN-SPI-RA-TION...
(impossible to rewrite our syllables
into katana... however much i like:
i draw blanks... still looks pretty...
i will have nothing to do with Ezra Pound's
fetish for Chinese ideograms...
they end up being primitive sounds
of vowel, consonant, vowel-consonant...
consonant-consonant-vowel structures anyway)...
of course there is... a slow way of getting drunk...
wine beer... and a fast way of getting drunk:
ms. amber... although i've become rather
immune to her flirting...
stone cold sober with her during the night:
stinking of dog **** the next morning...

refresh my mind...
Khada(ia) made a complaint last time she was
performing ******* on me...
hairs where there should be hairs:
on the shaft... i'm not going to shave my *******:
but i also don't expect her to **** them...
well... no other cure...
i'll need to get a *******...
i got a ******* and started to pluck out
the excess hair...
i was waiting for mr. limp to come along...
he came... and went...
and i was back to plucking out the excess hairs...

in the current climate?
the current culture... it's hardly reading marquis de sade
on the tube... although the one time i did
i had 4 teenage girls giggling
because the cover had a oil on canvas depiction
of a ****...
they giggled... while the words contained...
well... what is it that marquis de sade didn't write about?
to hell with marriage and with thirsting for
what the French cosmopolitans are accustomed
to with affairs...

this one chimpanzee laboured to prove
the existence of dragons...
dragons prior to the unearthing of dinosaur bones...
massive fire breathing lizards:
the great meteor cull...
this one chimpanzee with aspirations to find
something noble: like widowhood...
to escape the monkey harem / ****...
to find the widowhood and nobility among swans...
now... that's a thought...

upsetting confiscations of libido while
a certain number of would-be van Goghs do
one more.. d.n.a. genocide simulation into
a tissue... why wouldn't we somehow
abandon pop; and take a steer
at... say... something akin to:

         chevalier, mult estes guariz...
for tbe river of blood that is not supposed
to run through Yerushalem...
diviner of the old gods: Balaam!
  one word stands out though:
*****... in western Slavic...
"oddly" enough i can write it in katakana:

SU-KA...              スカ...
oh... look... no hyphen for the worth
of a compounded wording...
i can't find escape in Chinese hieroglyphs...
Japanese syllables can only stretch to far..
Korean? perhaps... i'll hardly inquire into
the Semitic scripts of either
Hebrews or Ar-Rabs...

this current *** culture is... bothersome:
i like to pay for reality: otherwise i go into
the forest and bend a deaf ear:
how eagerly i still watch how women
are pleasured...
it bothers me in the slightest:
during ***: 1st person...
you're never allowed the whole
3rd person pornographic availability of
experience... so you're missing the ***
resembling a Lamborghini... no?

but better with a ***** than these...
angry: newly invested in freedom
sort of broodings over...
these "livestock": oh sure...
the sort of freedom these "free" girls will allow...
no... i'm not buying into a farce...

because simply can't tell a journalist to
*******: secular priest: hand on... linger...
while the advertisers say all the things i want
to hear: since i don't have the money to spend:
i.e. a woman...
sad little affair this society has become....

SUKA! スカ!
dearest: Kinga...i seem to have picked up a case
of an... itchy nose...
i rub it again: and again:
between AGNI PARTHENE...
and what the Templars have on "choice"...

Salve Regina:
   consecrated upon the altar of womanhood...
this stiffening via the niqab:
versus al the freedoms that the setting sun
might also: allow...
bellowing rams...
                oh how i might love....
always the potential of me having "access"
to the disclosure...

         it's impossible to love a woman like
a saint... somehow possible to love one as...
but to love one as an ANGEL...
her own words...
                i couldn't get a *******:
she was living with 4 homosexuals..
we drink so that we might forget...
we forget in order that we might
attest to the puddle pretending it to be the sea..

waves.. waves... countless hybrids
of ice comes with cherry pulp....
i don't like the current *** culture...
i debit my encounters...
i pay upfront...
a day of the darkening of skies...

hier: ich bin!                    jetzt!
              jetzt! oder! nimmer!

   **** it... english party girls have it
covered... for the time being.