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Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
i'm rereading a book of published poetry,
and i'm feeling democratic about
fame...
              i got a pencil balancing on my ear
like a non-binge drinking Smurf -
i have a doctor's appointment tomorrow
over the phone: a triage, the bureaucrat
lady is clueless about 20th century
mail... post.. you know, lick the envelope
and lick the postage stamp.
she gets about 20 emails a day worth of
cat videos... ****... it's gonna be painful:
                  i need half a week prior to sending
the notice that i'm almost like an amputee and
i have no recyclable third limbs to attach to the missing
one! woman! understand! she's bonkers about
the calendar and doesn't know
anything about carrier pigeons' intelligence...
woman! not until the date, all mailing services have turned
electronic. no they haven't! the postmen are scared ****-less
but that's beside the point! woman: no, wait until
the exact date of expiration. me: it takes hours
to travel from London to Berkshire!
the transition from 20th to 21st agriculture
of brainwaves, atypical of 19th through
to 20th century differences... she's never learned
arithmetic, but she knows her bureaucratic
rubric limitation like she might know the
holy trinity with the stance: Ayers-rock immobility
to whatever argument might come my way:
this conversation might be monitored and recorded
for "training" / anti-troll purposes -
****, i'm just agonised about the fact that i was
supposed to get a turnip when instead i was sold
parsnip; that can't be good.
but the times i could have taken two girls
to see Aerosmith at Hyde Park
with a joint are long gone, ancient,
fables, Achilles principles the time referencing
to anything curated: passable... turtle mobile...
youth really felt like the Mongolian explosion...
most of the time...
                           people are wondering
why the 1960s didn't work as much as wondering
why Communism was stage-frightened
by the Pope... at the zenith the 1960s was the bomb...
then it fizzled out... by the time Communism
was underneath a heap of Martial Law
Commandments... no wonder the dual failures...
well, because it isn't really Karaoke these days:
but it's sing-along nonetheless:
genius dries up... if it ain't a Mozart,
then its collective (genus), the the fizzling out of
the once fizzy is harder to take on the chin...
**** and puppies!
                            oh sure, a success story
in terms of providing the household appliances,
but in terms of art? a ******* failure...
look at them: never the earnest clappers
and idolatry stinkers... Judases among Judases:
or some said: moralising artists is the best gig in town...
we can bank-out the bankers and all
will be frankly worth ***** trained applause...
and they did that, exactly
to the non-existent prose... they sold out artists
and bailed out bankers...
because the sheep always sway with: b'ah, b'ah...
translated into humanity: blah blah.
but i have to admit, it was fun taking two girls
to an Aerosmith gig in Hyde Park,
passing a joint around...
                    as ever the cenobite...
            well, due to motto:
a ***** don't give, a dog don't take -
                   cos' the elder gent has the influential
              chess-moves apiece: colts to the gutter...
                yep... ******' worth of ******* stutter.
                                        now i have a book
of poetry, alter.: a word about my "sensitivity",
a doctor's appointment at 8 a.m. to no definite hour,
triage takes 5 minutes... the ingenious n.h.s....
              i'm drinking whiskey and staying up all night...
after the appointment for a sick notice
(which, to be frank, the English nation should be
proud of, £120 a week and a free poem in friendly America -
friendly... hmm puff puff a laugh) i'm heading to
my former high school to drop off a book of poems
with the signature: to Meester BUNCE...
     who gave me a poetry assignment aged 16
and made me a poet... (no, not the crass pathetic
rhyming types that make it a living rhyming
in advertisement, rather the new-narrator types) -
i'll correct the publishers errors in pencil
and tell him to keep a copy, and stash another copy
in the school library - he always said:
Shaky rather than Shakespeare - never said poaching
a pear...
                        shaking a spare? shaking a spear?
      it really doesn't matter...
i ought to have a shave and leave the goat
where it is...
                         he wasn't that much for me:
that ingrained emblem of England to later continue:
exacting national pride like Mickiewicz in Poland...
                      these famous people
just get their remains moved many more times
after they die than the living remortgage during their lifetimes.
There's a guy dressed up as Freddie Kruger for Halloween
Freddie Kruger can't sing the high part during Eye Of The Tiger
I murmur something to my friend
Me: Freddie Crooner
My friend laughs more than he needs to
We aren't sure whose whiskey sour is whose anymore
My roommate doesn't want to sing in front of people
She'd rather hide in her glass and mingle with the ice
But I make her duet a Nirvana song with me
Which we scream and she starts having fun
The crowd claps with relief when we're done
Freddie Kruger offers me a fist bump
A group of sweet plump ladies takes turns singing love ballads
They all have pretty voices and work at Bubba Gump on the pier
The one that sang the Adele song is studying business
She tells me while we smoke outside during Wonder Wall
I sing nine minutes of Meatloaf
My voice cracks and growls like feedback
This guy buys me a shot afterwards
My throat is so dry that I have to drink it in tiny sips
This guy thinks me and my friends are fun
I duet Desperado with him and we knock over stools and laugh
He has clearly never heard the song Desperado before
Me and my friends invite the whole bar to sing an Aerosmith song together
I think that this may be the only way to really appreciate Aerosmith
I drive my roommate and my self back to our apartment
I'm drunk but I pretend I'm sober so she won't get scared
Then sometimes I laugh bizarrely to scare her a little bit
But always end up lying and reassuring her that I'm sober
We start talking about Lou Reed because he had died that day
I guess Lou Reed didn't like when people said RIP
Which I had written in my facebook status about him dying
I don't really care much because Lou Reed wasn't really a friend of mine
I just liked his music
And he never mentions in any of his songs anything
About people saying RIP
When we got to the bar the first thing I did
Was to look for a Lou Reed song to sing
But there weren't any
So I sang other songs instead
Sally A Bayan Mar 2015
(Haiku x 7)

Ears are blocked...deafened 
Conversations are ignored
Disconnected.....though

Weary mind needs rest,
Wary, half-closed eyes make sure
  World...still exists...while

Aerosmith rocks me!
AHA takes me on...Go West?
Yes! Hall & Oates, too!

OMD's Secret
ABC sings Ocean Blue
All my dreams came true!

Eurythmics sings dreams
I love how the Bee Gees ask,
"How deep is your love?"

Chaka Khan pledges:
"For a chance at loving you...
Even through the fire...."

MP3 takes me...
To dip...to wade...an escape
~~~ imperturbable ~~~



Sally


Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***hits play on...the list doesn't end ...the haikus would never end...***
Emily Kaminski Oct 2014
I know I'm capable to do any type of dances, if I try.

But when the music plays, I dance freestyle.
It's not just 'any' freestyle,
it's the type that you know it's missing affection.
It's missing a partner to love.

As soon as I feel the rhythm going through me,
my body flows with it.
When the rhythm is crazy fast:
It makes me a wild cat,
seeing of how feisty and powerful my body can move.
But when it's a slow rhythm:
My body moves slowly and elegantly, yet tempting to go near it.
Either way,
It'll call out for you to TOUCH IT.

I'm known to be ONE of the GREATEST TEASERS in my groups of friends.
Because my deadliest weapons,
are my hips.

When the rhythm plays, it works up from my knees; which is the key to how my hips can move SSOOoo SMOOTHly, then it works up to my curved belly, then to my chest and arms.
The DEADLY body wave.

But what can REALLY GET ME GOING,
is  when that guitar solo, the riffs
breaths heavy, then bites finger
OH GAWD THE SOLOS just makes me
LOOSE IT COMPLETELY!!!
Especially, the ones from 70s-80s,
it's a turn on for me.
My body will want MORE to feel it's melody,
for it to keep on playing!
OVER AND OVER AGAIN UNTIL I JUST drop on the floor from SATISFACTION.
With my face all red and my eyes all seduced.
My body burning up.
biting my bottom lip
mhmhm-heehee~

Sometimes when I dance on the pole or even using a chair I can imagine a person,
who's dancing with me.

One of the things that can win my full body's attention,
is when another body resist the temptations from falling into their wrong desires from me.
OR if that other body moves fluently with mine, without going any further, like under my clothes.
Simply just respect.

I may be a performer, but my mind says it differently.
So does others.
Our bodies want temptation and our minds wants to have trust and comfort.
You know what I'm saying.

Just because I'm a TEASER, doesn't mean I want YOU in BED.

That's why I'm deadly.
I torment people, by simply moving a piece of my body, then not letting them fulfill their DESIRES from me.
Sorry if you guys can't keep control of yourselves. Just work HARDER on THAT~
The only people who can HAVE ALL THAT from me, are the ones if in a relationship with or the ones I just REALLY LIKE ALOT~ ;)

I got a list of songs that can REALLY move me:
(Most of them are in the 70s-80s era,which ever has a nice guitar riffs)
Aerosmith- Rag Doll
Alannah Myles- Black Velvet
Nazareth-  Goin' Loco, Hair Of The Dog
Warrant- Cherry Pie
Def Leopard- Pour Some Sugar On Me
Gary Wright- Dream Weaver(the mellow melody is what moves me)
Foreigner- Jukebox Hero
AC/DC- Honey Roll, Thunderstruck, Back In Black
Also there's more, but it's all I can think of right now.

Even some songs from today:
Pussycat Dolls- Buttons, Sway
Britney Spears(ver)- I love Rock 'n' Roll
****** XL ft. DATAROCK- Gloria
Lady Gaga- Do What You Want With My Body
Girlicious- Stupid ****
One Republic- Everybody Loves Me
Down With Webster- Woe Is Me
There's also others, but again, it's all I can think of~
Just to let you guys know, I'M NOT A STRIPPER WHATSOEVER!
It's just my dances are like that.(I know other girls dance like that too. Nothing to be ashamed off, just know your limits~)
I'm just a simple cashier at a store~ ;u;
Just remember that bodies and minds don't mix at times.
Promise me, not to play these songs around me, FOR MOSTLY YOUR SAKES, because IT'LL END UP IN DISAPPOINTMENTS!!!
Also TRY NOT TO COMMENT ANY PERVERTED THINGS!!
I know it's tempting, but just don't! PLZ!
Just keep your desires to yourself! QAQ
Samantha Dietz Nov 2020
Aerosmith on vinyl
Your hand on my throat
Listen to Toys In The Attic
I'll be your toy, Make me choke
Kiss me ever so softly
While your lips tell me jokes
Send chills down my spine
When I smell your cologne

Show me your favorite songs
Tell me your crazy stories
I want to know who you are
I just want you to adore me
Look through my eyes to my soul
Hands all over my body
Steal the air from my lungs
I swear you're killing me softly
Monday, November 23rd, 2020
Xyns Mar 2015
I'm completely and utterly
Heartbroken
I love you
But it's all over now
You've spoken

No..
Pearl Jam..
Eminem..
Creed..
Default..
My Darkest Days..
Future..
Hopsin..
Aerosmith..
..Could ever fix
this brokenness..
I miss you
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
eating breakfast in a long time,
half a teaspoon of sugar,
coffee black, three marzipan
nuggets coated in chocolate,
two cigarettes...

and wondering where did the time
go since silverchair
released their debut frogstomp (1995),
or what happened to the offspring
after americana (the song *pay the
man
still wasn't a commercial song),
or the sudden thrill of red hot chilli
pepper's reunion with john and
californication, deftone's white pony,
or when buying the mortal kombat
soundtrack, and someone nice enough
at our price putting a different c.d.,
not the score, but the soundtrack
with actual songs: type o negative
(subsequently ****** kisses),
monster magnet, k.m.f.d.m., and beside,
days with cassettes (m.o.d.'s mr. oofus
ha ha) - and gigs, tool in glasgow
with that awesome german girl
who i gave water to in exchange for a kiss,
wolfmother in edinburgh, a few gigs
in london (papa roach, disturbed,
type o negative, iron maiden, the offspring,
american head charge, rammstein,
slipknot, korn, red hot chilli peppers -
when that arena at canary wharf was still open)...
but then there was verdi's  la traviata in st. petersburg,
and aerosmith in hyde park, and boy
did depeche mode rock hyde park too...
i mean, most these influences came from
my uncle, but i can't give him credit
for king crimson, jethro tull and other
prog bands (early genesis, for example)...
or the jazz...
but it's just annoying to not have seen
the holy wood tour by m.m.,
or not seeing slayer when jeff hanneman
was still alive - after all i pledged the
tribulation of growing long hair in school
to him, one day, looking at the band's poster,
i was 15 then and became known as chewbacca
for a while.
Johnnie Rae Feb 2012
Sitting here,
submerged in the rhythmic words
of Aerosmith,
I'm starting to realize,
I'm not so useless,
I've just begun,
lifes journey,
the winding road has only
just begun
and i'm realizing
I've got a long way to go,
before I can truly say,
I'm done.
Inspired by Aerosmith's one and only, Steven Tyler. :)
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
i'll be bevis, but mind your **** to be ****-head.

as i say to most girls:
depressed in the teens
eager thailand
for a quckie after...
girl your libido is morbid
enough to *sprech
greek ******
of the noose:
and i'm hanging, sure i am...
hanging limp...
there's you with a better biology
statistic living into widowhood;
i'll ******* rolling in the grave
like mozart with one of his symphonies
turned into advert / muzak for
a fridge door opening and counting
your calorie intake... or an elevator going
up without aerosmith.
Keith W Fletcher Mar 2017
First day of Rance s and stormys New Life.
After the first night of sleeping in the camper .
First  realization that he's  on his own ,for the first time in his life. First opportunity for Rance to find ,what will eventually become a great novel so ...off to say hi and meet the neighbors.
An hour later,  back from walking the campsite not have found any great stories, a couple of people nodded back as we passed , and one returned how you ? To my How are you doing today?

. No Epiphanies and no happy mood  as he  cooked up some hamburgers, for himself and for stormy .
   As it came time to eat,   and Rance  does something else for the first time ever, and that is deciding to say a prayer- for the journey and for the meal.

        *×××/\/\//θθ\/\/\×××*
Made some hamburger patties , fixed stormy some food in his bowl turned on some Aerosmith Circa 1982 and waited for what would be next. As it turned out it was just hamburgers. No Revelations , no approaching strangers/ Neighbors to regale with the most amazing story ever to be heard..
   So I grill the burgers, set out the condiments, fill the plate with chips ,open the can of dr. Pepper then did something I had rarely if ever done in my life I made up a prayer'.
    Dear God in heaven
Jesus and the holy Spirit
Thank you for this meal
Both mine and Stormys
And for the opportunity
To see...
..... Beyond my horizons

Lift Me Up
And I will look farther
Open my heart
That I may feel deeper
Fill me up that I may have
Something to give back

I don't know what
My sites should be set on
Or the path
That I should be taking
So I will put it in your hands
To guide me- to show me
Where to look and help me
See what I might otherwise miss

I asked myself a little while ago
If I would do anything different
Than the people who. are camped around me .
I don't know the answer
I would like to believe.... that
The answer is inside me
Where only time and your good graces
Will help me if ....
... .  Understanding is mine to possess.

In Jesus name amen

Then for some reason I decided , instead of spending the day and night - as planned -at 12:30 in the afternoon- I packed up ,checked  the map,  picked  what I believe would be a pleasant four our trip, then I shook the dust of campsite 12C modern from my clothes and waved hartily at all the strangers  camping down the lane- as I went past.
    One little boy of about 10 waved enthusiastically back at me as I roll by.
     An hour later I found myself traveling a. switchback mountain pass highway when I came around a blind curve to come face-to-face with large backpack -a very large backpack - in the road.
    The backpack - upon reflection - was on the narrow shoulder of the road and rode on the the narrow shoulders of a red headed guy;  walking with a  dog on a string and ,going in the same direction that I was traveling.
      As I passed by, slowly. as  the surprise from  coming around the corner and seeing the sudden backpacks appearance ,along with the steady uphill climb of the road had slowed me considerably anyway.
    It was the dog that nearly brought me to a complete stop , not the - enthusiastic hitchhiker's - thumb sticking out to his side.
      The dog was bone-thin with  ribs showing like Fingers through the flesh and the protruding hip bones that stuck out like golf ***** under the skin just above each hind leg.  A silver and black dog that stood about 26 inches at the shoulders and should have weighed 80 pounds....would probably  tip the scales at 45 or 50.
      I passed by this pair with cuss words on my breath and anger in my heart to suddenly see a pull off/ view area to my right.
    I pulled in with a sudden and violent yank of the wheel that earned me a hard look from Storm .
    I was probably a quarter mile past The Hitch-Hiker when I pulled in and it was large enough to move back away from the road to a point I could no longer see the guy or the dog.
    " Good God" I said to Storm " Did you see .... and then it hit me with the spirit , as sudden  as a bug hitting the windshield would do;  so I looked up to the heavens" REALLY ?" I said "This is my answer?"
   Then I knew right then and there that I had judged, I had assumed , "I saw a starving dog and never thought... maybe he was attached to a  starving human.
Michael Humbert Sep 2014
Music always was an escape for me,
Until you came and went,
And stole it all from me

Tegan and Sara, blink-182
Seether, Jimmy Eat World
and Aerosmith too

Every song was a dagger,
That I masochistically plunged,
Until I was drained, haggard

I have my songs back,
But you've stained them,
Forever marked black
awesome apothecary addressed as Agamemnon  
alleviates anxiety, and alimentary aggravation
anodyne appeasement arrests ailment
amphetamines acquaintanceship assuages
agonizing aches also advocates amorousness

assiduously activating admiration
aggressive attacks assault air afoul
affable affinity affects adumbration
anatomical accidental addiction attested as academic,

although afterward abnegation absolutely arduous,
affianced attired apparently as an anomaly
Ares and Abyssinian Astarte admixture
acquiescence affliction affected adroitly,

and abruptly abends accessible
altruistic alms axed
albeit admonishing, alluding,
and attributing authored

autonomous anonymous adroit arriviste agents
accompanying as accomplished accomplices
accredited ace advertisers
applaud ascendent assaults amidst agonizing appeals

acting all acrimoniously apropos
avowedly ardently, and antagonistically, agitating
appositely advocating ancillary assistance  
addict adrift afloat anchors away

assails along, among, and an alias archenemy -
adorned abominable assassin alters ambition
adroitly, aggressively, absolutely
addict announces asseveration

against avid admonishment
alarmingly annulling authentic affiliation
anew anonymous ability acclaims alignment
aegis actually adversarial abetting attrition appetite

acceleration ascendent after aplenty anesthetization
additionally activating arced analogous arrow
advancing added abdominal and arterial agony
abject ambivalence arrests accomplishments attainable

any artistic avocation absconded
asper auditorial approbation, animadversion
artificial aggrandizement abrogates astuteness
appropriate adjudication affronted

alternative afforded amnesty about acing audioslave
as aerosmith ambition assumes arriviste affectation
already appalling alacrity awakens amendment
although Awol administration adamant

acrimonious affront agonizingly attributable
announces another afterworld
apparent ailing apparition
ardent allegiance asking anyone appreciable affix
apathy abounds attending apriorism allotment.
Addison Davis Oct 2014
In the beginning there is burning desire,
Pleasurable pain and incessant thudding against omniscient walls
Love burns bright with the glow of ethereal passion
As lovers trade scents and nail marks and scars
The days go quickly with patience and calm
And the nights go slow with ignited libido
As sweet and sticky honey flows expeditiously from a jar

Suddenly the serene beginning ends
The prominent, shrill cry of an egotistical infant sounds
Through a night that once was home to passion
Resentment lodges a spot in the marrows of tired bones
The nights are quick and well awaited
And the days are spent nursing and feeding and preparing for a paramount life
As sweet and sticky honey slows its thriving speed

All of the sudden, it is nor the beginning or the end
The age of sticky hands and Crayola and Goodnight moon
Little feet make floorboards creak at the end of the day with excitement
And the lack of lust is surrogated by the richness of love
Day jobs are dreary but devotion is not
The days go on and on and on
And the nights go quietly with small joys
As honey settles in its jar for what feels perpetual

Rapidly, it is the beginning of the end
Slammed doors and Aerosmith records blaring with bitterness
The egotistical child that once screeched for affection now rejects it
But love remains and despite dark rooms and harsh words traded with reckless abandon,
It overcomes
The days are lonely
And the nights are too
As the honey rapidly slips away

So it is the end
As trivial collections are arranged in boxes
To be shipped to a new home far away from this one
Old videos make for heartsickness and phone calls make for bittersweet joy
And elders reflect on a life that was not in vain
The floorboards still creak at the end of the day
Not with excitement, but rather with age
The days are quiet and
The nights are too but that is okay
The jar may be empty but the residue is sweeter still
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
people started to look a bit: dumb-found
   making it into a pose,
or at least gracing the need
to pose...
maybe both at the same time?
it really was all ***** at an aerosmith concert...
start looking at *****, given a large
enough crowd, start imitating *****...
ugh... so crowded... claustrophobia reinvented...
i'd like to mind that fact...
lodging a pair of testicles
where a crown might reside,
tickling them, or should i say:
doing doing-doing tango
with my tongue, i.e. tickling them?
  hey! the gay joke! all the ladies waiting...
you sorta want to give them a chance perspective...
but then sorta withhold on giving them one...
    that's the way you say:
i kinda like beta-male
masochism... just makes sense
after a while.
    moaned & groaned, started living off
the taxpayer...
              thus came fame:
and the rollercoaster...
                   and it was all
well cushioned thereafter...
  like it might do: after a funeral...
just after in the west
they called parenthood a job...
that's when i gave up...
they they called it a job i was like:
let's just watch disney cartoons...
to minder-status me be beckoned!
just somebody with a ***-savvy
   free approach...
              i can't be bothered putting
that much effort in, when a panda
or a koala stages a necessity of
bamboo or eukalpitus leaves (merely)...
  can't, be, *******, bothered.
no, really, the argument is not working,
that natioal brigade concerning
Darwin is worse than the Poles with Chopin...
    i like him playing the piano,
not doing a makeover on my skeleton...
   it's bugging me, it's actually horrifying me...
i'm not afraid of alpha males...
am i contesting? should i?
    i rather enjoyed squash courts
mid-week, and lifting weights...
       now i'm asked to make some sort of resorts
for an upkeep?
   i can't be bothered...
i really can't...
  i have not impetus to keep the biological crown,
i have no need to keep d.n.a.
like it might stretch into genealogy...
i have absolutely no dire need to reproduce...
all those arguments can, sorta drown in
phlegm...
                i literally have no need for a
motivation coach...
                    you want to keep the argument:
you keep it!
              do all the ******* that the argument
deserves for it to be kept!
i can't be bothered...
  i really can't.... call it Mandarin or call it
Mongol... i call it mammoth mohican...
i'm saying: bye bye: and **** me,
aren't i the 'appy chappy un.
              so i'm also ****-phillic in terms of music,
music, yes, music that sounded better
than a woman in onomatopoeia mode
imitating a ******* cello.
   i just like what's pleasing to the ear:
'cos' i'm deaf my dear!
    i ain't blind, all i can see is a big fat
lipstick approved O...
               that will never be a Mozart,
and will never be AC / DC...
      you're no music baby,
and i'm not really into dinosaur history
to keep us alive, or, that said: absolutely
necessary...
              there's no perfect with a perfection
still involved...
     i say we were perfect: once upon a time,
when we're actually gone.
no, sure, go ahead,
   convince me with yet another
20 centuries (later)...
      i'm not convinced enough....
    or how i like to say:
it was pointlessly said nonetheway...
             i couldn't make sense
of it being a hearing loss or turning blind...
but thinking it out was just the cause
to sorta blink... and then turn into a Judas
on an icon canvas:
     with my head turning on an axis
  akin to a roulette;
and that,
                   ever, eternal... gamble:
was i, wasn't i (speaking the truth)?
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2017
without disrupting the poem, after all, the original tenant left and someone new has moved in... adding a pr.s. (pre-scriptum / prologue, but not quite, since the praxis of this sort of phrasing is attache in nature), the revised size of a cup that became a mug invokes the following revision: it's still 50ml of milk, but the amount of brew is - 200ml - i lied though, i added an acute iota... and the: must we? surely there are some aesthetic observations worthwhile to be made, like the doubling of letters, the english answer to missing diacritical applicability, ever present, as if god... spleen morbidity, you can obviously replace the ee bit with an iota acute, but would it look ugly? most certainly... but not asking for etymological uprooting of a rooting of a foreign word, akin to shísha... otherwise you'd include the near-proximity of a Y with that automated diacritical mention on the iota... dot what? dr. dotwhat? quack?! then you get cackling of a magpie, what next? a crying hyena?! if no letter follows the last, you can actually pin-point an i with an iota grave... and all i have is a stick and a stone to work my entry into applying diacritical marks in particular instances available, which, as a language, is a inferno in paradiso for a pedant... a dot on the iota and a dot on the be-jesus that's a massive tarantula! that's i have: entry point via i... exit point via j-j-jaded! ah man, that aerosmith gig in hyde park, two girls by my side, joint in hand... the fun of the fun times when some things were still funny; and i lied because i also added the grave iota... which resembles a quick-snap merging of mono-syllable words, otherwise represented akin to this (with iota having its "head" ******* on): cha'i.

the notion that mixing milk with *chaì

is an english invention is simply wrong,
there is another nation of people
who are adamant tea drinkers,
namely the russians...
                     frequently mention
in dostoevsky's novels: the samovar -
which is equivalent to a shísha pipe
of the middle east
(can't we just have the acute i?
it's pretty much the same as p p ee)...
  what do the english have? a kettle.
ah ****, i forgot about the green tea
drinkers, the chinese and the japanese...
never mind,
  but i forgot because... the english are
not the only ones who add milk to their
black tea...
               in siberia they do likewise...
it was never just an english "thing" -
in poland they call adding milk to tea
a vabarka - intended to intimidate
like ordering cranberry juice in an irish
pub...
      i.e. the question: you lactating
or something?
             - and yes (and doubly yes,
you can begin a sentence with a conjunction
if it's predicated with a hyphen) -
    the best tea in england comes
from yorkshire...
       yorkshire tea is the only tea to drink...
and i found out the secret
for the best tea...
    like a bartender in a bar,
i took out the measuring tool,
   50ml on top, 25ml below...
                 the ideal amount of
milk...
             50ml of milk to 186ml of brew...
put a 9 in between the 1 and the 8
and you'd get the year of my birth...
and hey presto! toasted wheat colour,
just the sort of thing worth drinking...
maybe i was misinformed,
but i heard that americans only drink
ice tea, and are more into their coffee,
am i right?
               nothing beats the oozing
warmth from yorkshire tea
with milk...
             almost like ******* on
werther's original candy...
                   liquidated, ready to be slurped
up by pensioners...
                 with subtle hints of
'erbs...
                       so no, the english are
not the only people to drink black tea
with milk... the siberians also take to drinking
it that way...
    and given that the english are popular
for doing so, i suspect the siberians were
the first to adapt the practice...
the loudest gobs are always the ones
to nullify the pioneers...
   like christopher columbus comapred
with leif eriksson.
Ni5ha Jul 2016
Don't even know how much I'm allowed to write
so I put up a fight
with sleep every night
when the reruns return to the TV screen
and the family's asleep
and there's no need for the word on the street because everything happens...at night
From the bed bug bites, to the insomnia I have because
I can't sleep in fear that I won't wake up again
and that I'll go too easy and too quiet into that goodnight
I don't want to miss a thing with Aerosmith
so I keep my eyes open wide
Fingertips prying open the closing doors to my sight
I don't even blink because I fear that I will miss the shadows that chase each other on my ceiling
Seeing predator and prey dance in musical melody
revealed by the headlights from the cars
that move on the street and in and out driveways
My family misses all of this
because they sleep at night
Maybe insomnia is a blessing,
but it's not purely blessed
because my body reacts with a longing for sleep
the same way I long for romance
It's a curse
but a pleasant curse
because everything
happens at night
and I'm one of the lucky, unlucky few to see it
Rap maniac, brainac, see the stats that,
Love to break out the cats,
Along with the dogs that, get the bag never been a drag, see shots from old hags,
Yo this is new school, mixed with a little old school, peep the visual,
Only do numbers with residuals, smooth criminal, like mj on a take away,
Got my tongue out, when I see young chick looking stout,
My speakers stay maxed out, aired out, only the real feel me out,
I been this way, since I took Aerosmith pathways, running things always,
Don't do strays, still toast champagne with loaded AKs,
Welcome to doomsday protege, either way you can't avoid the madness display,
I'm nas I'm biggie I'm pac I'm jay z, nah my skills ain't for the lazy,
Play at the clubs, low down see how many hoes come around,
When you making money by the pounds,
Or better yet tons, see these ones,
Millions you never touched,
I keep it cold crushed, leave it on the hush, never let my seed bust,
In a ***** I don't trust, only invest in self, eat good and workout for my health,
Stay in stealth, most of the time I'm either writing, bars or peeping the skylines,
With the mental graffiti, still scoping the beautiful sceneries, young Nefertiti's,
Got me feeling greedy, and ***** change the whole worlds anatomy,
Can't shatter me, I'm antimatter sitting fatter, once the spirits flatter,
Themselves around me, upped my levels from the third, to the ninth dynasty,
Chilling with powers of mxyplix, hope you feeling it, I've been living it,
Bars is spilling ****, all over the floor I polish more and more, too *******,
Radio edits, real brothers with street credit, I is Is and Is is I,
Right across ya third eye, I frail born in the muddy waters, of the holy grail,
Mannish boy with no joy, I took chips but avoid the ahoys,
Yeyo suckas love to sell yeyo, but how you would feel, if you sitting in jail,
Time moving like a snail, I gotta get more kale, see how I flip the scales,
Money overflowing, traces of my mind from the **** blowing,
We keep going and going, htown letting you know how we be flowing,
Over the rivers, don't let the creek rise, hang with wise guys, who got mob ties,
By the time they realize, they'll be me, with hockey face mask as a disguise,
End of discussion, que the percussion, once the beats hits, begins a crushing,
Hushing, out all my crictics flapping they mouths, ******* talking about,
Word to the souf, you know why they call it *****, murders spreads so easily,
Ain't nothing to brag about, I'm just giving up the real, only appeal to the real,
We don't do cops, cuz pigs love to squeal, after tickets of a meal,
I lay it cool, since I was in grade school, I knew I couldnt be a mule,
Though a ******* in class, amongst the mass, still had a complicated task,
How can I unmask, the world's mask unchained melody, of misery,
Do they see what I see, focus on my spiritual lens, **** a 500 series Benz,
I'm in the studio, like Michael and Prince, petty beef with mutual respecto,
See the manifesto, no communist points I'm just here to annoint
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
a drunk is not going to, suddenly,
think himself as anything,
other than a "before"...

         to integrate into a culture,
is to be governed by a bias,
or at least, to be,
alleviated by the bias,

   i came upon these isles
without a pior post-colonial
juidgement,
  but i'm sensing that,
that's what's required
to allow the shallow standards
of integration...

see, my position is far from
unique,
i don't actually dispose myself
to calm the nerves
of a northern transit of
    counter-arguments,
against the racists...

    am i here,
  solely to inherit this circus
of the current events?
can i just listen to the epitome
of the 1980s...
with simply red...
and not something akin
to the cure or
depeche mode?
  god, they were great,
in hyde park...
who? depeche mode...
beat aerosmith...
   two girls in company...
promis and...
  she's... she's....
            already married...
i remember talking to her
on d.m. via MSN...
her name...
                    not Alesha...
i'm pretty sure it began
with an A...
   no, Lebanon doesn't spawn
Alisons...
  ****! what was her name?
Braintree! ****...
that's a city in Essex...
   Ayisha...
                no... that's not it...
         she's Lebanese...
****...
                i can't remember her name,
a name that's,
           pop culture worth...
so much for Layla,
so much for Keileigh...
  so much for all the other
love songs...
                   ****!
now i have it!
            ALICIA...
               leb- alicia...
tender as a daffodil...
           ****! i managed to remember!

Alice in Woderland: *** C.I.A.,
  leb-
       eh...
  **** me...
i just planted a cherry tree....
i'm getting bitten on the non-existing
bite-markers compensation...
                 around the toes...
    there's a solo aspect
of rhythm guitar,
in the line of sight
of clapton...
    and i'm fiddling,
to find the proper jazz trumpet...
and a pawnbroker jew,
and...
       the "magic" celtic stone
of prayer to boot?

   well, that's me,
happy to be the fiddly drunk,
happy to be drunk,
  happy to not have
the sort of narrative that
might not allow,
someone having their life
ruined...    

               as i told one gilded crown
of patience and company:
you know, that i'll ruin you...
then? she drops out 4 sweethearts...
and i... luckily,
remained confined to making
company with shadows...

                i'd love to become bitter,
as i'd love, to also,
become prone to the waiting game,
lies, and the persistence of
covering up markers,
whether by foot or by hands,
or the items of hair of nails...

  n'ah...
i must prefer someone living a lie,
than outright stripping them
of the "decency" to conjure up
a throng outlet of lied to: people...
           some would claim:
i'm bitter happy...
  i'm the pristine, operatic example
              prone
of schadenfreude...
i abhor exercising my
canvas of emotion
   against the paint-brush of
                                 schadenfreude...
no point: in fact,
of slaughtering an animal:
if you're not going to eat it...

so i came across the english,
post-scriptum of the, empire...
i hear a voice from the north
diminish the per se existence pride...
and i'm like...
   all i have to inherit,
is a garden, in an out-suburbian
setting...
      what the **** have i inherited,
that the natives,
will not own up to?
                   am i supposed
to own up to their past history,
is history even being towed
to make a summary,
of next week's Monday?

          so i'm supposed to come
"clean" concerning
the Ukrainians,
the Lithuanians...
   or the fact that the "other"
commonwealth,
was non-existent, until about,
100 years ago?
  lucky me: there's no pride associated
with it...
   i just don't know what it feels
like, what it feels like,
belonging to a horde of shrapnel
individualists,
cosmopolitan...
             zombie-brains...

  you got me...
      i speak an acquired language of
a people i can't relate to outside
of London,
and i've inherited a language
of a people i can't relaste to,
beside "exile"...
   economic "war",
such a slow riddled theatre...
            
    i know the blame i'm supposed
to put on myself:
i will continue celebrating
my drinking excesses...
          but i will not...
suddenly, somehow...
       concentrate all this blame &
shake gaming,
for a pontius pilate diversion...
and allow...
the other side: the full pardon...
scot-free behaviour...

   i can take the blame i am allowanced...
but to... somehow...
walk away blameless?
    sure... prostitutes...
because i didn't feel like
being ****** over by
"spy dough in the oven"
dynamic of lying about
contraception...

          unless you're about to tell me
that s.t.d's are transmitted ******,
via slurping on
a warm slush-puppy of excess skin...
you tell me...
   i should have found myself
mildly entertained
by playing the roulette,
than ******* some russian hag.
jeffrey conyers Jun 2018
Chuck Berry-Buddy Holly.
Little Richard-Jerry Lee, Lewis.
Elvis Presley-Jackie Wilson.
Sam Cooke-Pat Boone.

In the eyes of God are we all that different?

Heritage or culture makeup makes us the way we are.
Thinking a certain mentality that affects us all.

Except, in the eyes of God are we all that different?

We operate on things that fit a certain up raising.
And spread it around like its a known truth.

Andrew Sisters-the Supremes
Aerosmith-the Ohio Players
President Clinton-President Obama

In the eyes of God aren't we the same.
Billy Graham-Martin Luther King Jr.
There was a message in their teaching.

Just remember this, in the eyes of  GOD are we all that different.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
yesterday can feel like months
or even years away...

              all because you pounce
out of bed,
and begin an argument
about three glasses sitting
     on the sink...

   like it's a hoarder's genesis
to clutter...
     on the odd surmount -
it is a mother,
and i somehow grip to a patience...

but the whole thing is
shambles...
the original idea that allowed me
to get out of bed
like a kangaroo sinks...

insult after insult...
    this that and the other...
from a woman who doesn't see
what 0 hours contract has
done to working
in a supermarket...

   why are these people happy
doing 0 hour contracts?!
i sometimes see this person,
that person,
then some other person...
   doctors are supposed
to sign up to: being on call...
not supermarket
shelf stacker!

            i guess with writing i
know i'm doing something right...
hell... it's not exactly Stephen King...
but it's something...

three unwashed glasses
sitting on a sink, monetarily,
and i'm talking to a woman
feeling that i'm about to be castrated
by a ****...
          
                the ups and downs
of: unaffordable rents and
even more unaffordable housing...
****... social housing for men
about to start off?
single mothers, sure...
men?
either the streets or a tent
shanty town in a forest...
with a chance for eviction...

        yeah, men have it real bad,
but we're the ones who
have to come up with
existentialist solutions,
meanings, purposes,
a woman can oven bake
    the meaning of existence in
9 months...
which is focal around,
but one argument:
continuity...
     i have to sit here,
and think of something outside
the realm of giving
birth and securing
the fluidity of a healthy economy
buying, things,
that women would buy...

i have it easy...
any given day...
the troubles of 9 months
over 90 year of idiotic
bewilderment...
    and the bewilderment doesn't
even last 90 years,
since another bunch
of ******* are on their way...
men have it easy...
yeah... reads like a quote
from the ******* Bible...

and how much of feminism is
borrowed from
horror sci-fi?
the whole... alien thing?
how much?
i'm guessing pretty much all of it...
perhaps there's the postnatal
depression...
but then there must be a
pregnancy psychosis of being...
hijacked...
             yes... hijacked...
but never pampered...
just ego-****** incubating a fetus...

nice one...
      
i could work in a shop,
believe me...
my highest ambition was to work
in a music shop...
but guess what?!
   only food shops, cafes,
mobile phone outlets
and shoe shops are running the market...

so i say to this woman...
like brick walls over paintings?
no?
  how about the sound of silence...
turn the radio off...
the free aspect of any
production of art...
        some things are just:
necessary...

sudoku no. 10,197...
i love it when one of the grids is left
blank...
    you can easily note
which final numbers fit into all 9...
3, 8, 6, 7, 9, 1, 2, 4, 5...
  
like that 20th century dialectical
question that seems to be the only one
that still exists...
the Rolling Stones, or the Beatles...
neither, Aerosmith...
why? because i saw them live
in Hyde Park...

or from the 80s...
    Depeche Mode or the Cure?
i also saw Depeche Mode in Hyde Park...

beside the point...
what was my morning thought?
ah...
   i don't know how i managed
to keep it in my subconsciousness
without it slipping into
the unconscious and forgetfulness...

a funny thought...
i know why i dream so little...
or hardly at all...
   my capacity to dream has
been eroded with my
treating the faculty of memory
like a recurring movie -
this whole memory cinema...
or cinema of the memory...
the fact that i remember
as much as i do,
and yes, selectively,
      none the less the details,
could imply why i do not
have a brain that has evolved
to find meaning in
  dreams, per se -
i.e. dreams for the sake of dreaming...

i hear of the Anglophone high status
of dreaming encounters...
how the Anglophone people
are master architects of dreams...
maybe i'm not evolved to become
an architect of dreams,
but i'm pretty sure that,
the nature of your unconscious
doesn't allow you access
to being, in charge...

                      how can someone be
in charge of dreaming?
     i've heard that somewhere...
which makes more sense to do away
with the faculty of dreaming...
riddled with Freudian easy
access to ******* or counter-*******
symbolism...

i'm even thinking as far as:
dreams are the remains of the consciousness
of a *****...
wacky! well no **** Sherlock!
but i'm guessing that i don't dream
as much as other people,
only because
    my memory faculty has overtaken
my capacity to dream...

memory is a cinema for me,
    and perhaps my exposure to excesses
of memory, have eroded my
physical need to dream...

  sure, i don't consciously chose what
to remember,
  but... i can't entertain the argument
that i unconsciously chose what
i remember...
                  at any given moment of
recollection...
   that's not how educational rubric learning
works before sitting down
an exam.

how can i consciously chose what
to remember... when...
even if i try...
    i am capable of forgetting what,
i "thought" i would remember...
and receive a grade F on
   an essay from history about
the crusades?
Fearless Apr 2019
So this one time I sat down to eat my salad
and she plopped into a chair to share her life's ballad
Of drunken crazies and dumb little nights
and of all sorts of berserk and ridiculous plights

Dancing on a table, just a little unstable
whoop! there's that white girl wasted label
Get up it's all right and dance into the night
got that guy's number in spite of her plight

she jumped in a cab didn't know where to go
had a suit case and just went with the flow
landing on crutches again and again
you have to play hard if you want to win

she met this musician, Aerosmith something
he was sitting on a beach wearing pirate bling
she walked up and said, "man I like what you're wearing."
had no clue about all of the people just staring

she sauntered through life on a breeze and a cloud
and only got scared when things were really loud
never a care it just falls into place
I wish I could remember that girl's pretty face

so this one time she told me things got really weird
but don't worry about it, "my name was cleared."
but she sang while in jail to cops in blue caps
and when she came out of her cell there were claps

now she turned with a grin and twinkle in her eye
and gave me advice as she bid me goodbye
"a ship in a harbor is boring as hell
crazy makes history, so go make it well"
Courtesy Goofus and Gallant
who began their broadly-drawn
moral plays in the 1950s,
initially depicted as identical twins,
but later on, editors for Highlights
indicated the two were brothers,
but not twins, and by 1995,
they simply existed as two unrelated boys.

Analogously, ineptly, and uniformly juxtaposed
slipshod verse best flushed down toilet
or slid down into the behavioral sink
of garbage disposal,
yours truly presents the following
worthless trademark worded poem.

Since this then year
July first two thousand and seventeen,
tubby more precise where
with thee missus,
and I dwell amidst bucolic environs,
shuffling back where
buffalo used to roam,
one sandy randy
handy dandy chap could don
“I hate boys” underwear
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania  

trees abundant with leaves of grass spare
zip code: one nine four seven three,
unmotivated to partake of mental
exercises just sitting on me rear
this resident doth not find queer
disproportionate amount of time,
he spends never to overhear
lack of being ambulatory t'will be near
the mostly soundproof walls
inside apartment b44 assigned midyear,
one bedroom living social space

gives ample opportunity to assess linear
ratcheting kvetching asper
elderly folks inching along
chronological space/time continuum
purposefulness tis unlike to leer
that one day (fast as snap of fingers),
me haint give a rats ***
what rumor fishmongers relish,
and behind me back jeer
since old people lack
for fragile as jasperware

before each major chord din hated
since becoming housed here
and oft time cannot hear
even without television blasting away,
no doubt harboring
anticipatory anxiety sans,
frankly zaps, this dude
looks like a lady,
while making love in an elevator
cuz ah ma longish bedraggled
hydrogen peroxide tinted hair

many experience diminution
grim reaper's unannounced visit
metaphorical cog and gear
of vital sensory organs,
they capable of inducing fear
their non verbal body language
speaks volumes analogous
to a frightened deer,
when caught blindsided
within bright lights
of an automobile 'ere

unsure which way to go,
as a hollowed out existence
each precious moment 'ere
induces me to declare
to maximize utilizing
and dashing out in the thick
of evening rush hour traffic,
lacking notion, the
figurative coast not clear
when aye espy and stride-rite past,
an old lady or man riding shotgun

securely strapped in wheelchair,
or trudging to common
all purpose gathering place
subsequently doting bucks killed
upon scrutinizing what doth appear
and upon limitation in physical
functionality, aye aim to appear,
where birds of prey,
thence loftily circle gracefully
analogous to
rocketing fame of Aerosmith  
gliding within upper atmospheric air.
Kurt Philip Behm May 2019
Is it Aerosmith or The Eagles for you,
  Republican or Democrat to vote

Is it Chinese takeout or Italian bistro,
  or the prose or poetry you wrote

Is it bland or spicy, thick or thin,
  as you struggle yet confused

Is it yes or nor, or God forbid maybe,
  what’s to gain and what’s to lose

Is it briefs or boxers, or none at all,
  is it Winter over Spring

Is it rock and roll, or blues or jazz,
  does it have to be one thing

Is it dogs or cats, or beer or wine,
  is the difference felt inside

When you choose just one, to eliminate,
  what your vanity tries to hide

Throw out the rules, pull off the mask,
  to your inner self be true

Force not yourself to choose between
  —but what’s now in front of you

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

— The End —