Amor non discitur, amor cognoscitur, sed id non animadvertis donec amorem invenis

She is the high point of the seasons bringing mellowness and relaxation to my world
With more beauty than October's sunset sky, she has an aura of charm, elegance and harmony
Her understanding nature brings balance to my life
She is the wind that keeps my fire ablaze with her divine smile, soothing voice, affectionate hugs and tender kisses
But cools my fury before all is scorched and burned
She is my world

Amor aeternus

If I could subjugate the seasons, and bend them full,
Unto my will, then I would make them playthings…
Like pretty maids, all in a row; and all I hate I’d cull.
Of old, I held esteem higher than bards and kings…
When the sickles fell in the corn, as the fire did roar,
The wicker man died, to the druids’ mystical chants.
I was there and in my honor the maidens sang more,
As the blood of the wicked watered growing plants!
My symbol was the ram, the horned beast of Hades,
And I am the wolf that runs wild, amongst the flocks.
My holy temple lies in the realm of the palest shades,
Cast low, yet rising ever higher from infernal rocks…
From such places have I climbed seeking my justice!
Elfin queens have donned the black courtesan gown,
And danced before my throne as many a mistress…
Their grace enhanced, by silvery slippers and crown.
I was the serpent Saint Patrick cast from out of Eire!
The children of Dana spoke of me only in whisper…
Whilst their mother kept tended, for me, a secret fire.
Only she could touch it without one burn or blister…
But her traditions are now the stuff of forgotten myth.
The gods have laid me low, seeking to humble pious,
A spirit wilder than the forest when cloaked in mists!
Though I bow to no tyranny; as a god, I was jealous.
As a man I am lonely and angry at the evils I behold,
Hungry for love and thirsty for what peace I can find.
In the name of desire, I rage until Hell’s fire is cold…
Look beyond my flesh, and do not in hubris be blind.
Know me by my words and know my love is honest,
I offer up my darkness with my light to here confess!

Descent I: The Spire of the Eye

(No heresy of Babylon, was ever so honest…
As that which captured my soul, in conquest.)

To love me, you must take my hand and so enter…
The hidden places, where not just good is centered,
But also evil the like of which you knew not I kept.
If you can understand, sweet dreams blissfully slept,
Then mayhap you can bear the nightmares’ sting…
And when all is so done, more of love we shall sing!
I am the darkness, the eye watching from the spire,
The one you deny, the embodiment of your desires.
I am the shadow, the faces in your mirror’s pane…
The one you fear, as you enter a nightmare domain!
Welcome to my paradise, let me offer you an apple,
As I send you to the Abyss on a steed lithely supple.
Behold the gardens where my kin wait to be free…
The roses there grow reddest, all from infernal seed.
I can lead you beyond the fire, if you take my hand,
For you are but a stranger, in my own strange land!
Behold the desolation, caused by the sins of man…
Would I punish humanity for it, if not for divine ban?
Nay, I am not God nor could I ever be one so aloof.
When I see the innocents who perish in disasters…
I weep for the children the most and I ask for proof,
That God cares for any soul, either here or hereafter.
Do you say wickedness lives, in the hearts of some?
I see it even on high, and wish it could be overcome.
But then somebody hurts me and I cannot forgive…
And in that hour I know why God can be full of fury.
Some pains are too much, to endure and saintly live,
I too was a child, and not a one wept for my worry!
Is my pity a service, to those who cannot be saved?
The answer is in no scripture, or on altars engraved.

Let me look into your eyes so that I might wonder,
Whilst you gaze into my own to behold the thunder!
Let us shake the heavens, until they are darkened…
Whilst those that slumber, below, violently awaken!

Descent II: The Feast of the Fallen

(No heresy of Atlantis, was ever quite blest…
As that which, here, has been shown interest.)

Behold the table I have set out for one great feast…
The wraith-maids come to dance in gowns creased,
By night-threads woven by the spiders of the pits…
As screams of the ******, provide a song most fit!
You ask, why God would create a domain like this,
A twisted realm of mad passions: and madder bliss?
It was the creation of the darkest dreams of angels,
And gods fallen, who found a home within the hells.
Where the elfin kin were remade into a dark image,
In a time lost to all history, unrecorded by any sage.
When love is denied me, I am a prisoner of the ice,
Which sweeps across my heart by sorrow’s device.
Fire and ice lie before you, within my soul reflected,
The origin of this nightmare you dream unprotected!
Do you feel the chill that I kept from all who’d pry?
Now you know how awful is loneliness, and why…
To bear it any longer would be verily to lose myself.
Far better is companionship, for the spiritual health!
Oh the irony of the ignorant who called me maker…
Knowing not, the blasphemy to which they commit!
Woe unto the repast prepared for them by a baker,
Who serves them the poisons to which they submit!
Only love can provide release that passion can seal.
Awaken me from my nightmare, with a love so real!
Black webs stretch across gulfs where vultures soar,
And I know how terrible goodness can be, unveiled.
For there is a terrible righteousness at Hell’s door…
Hotter than the sun over the waves man once sailed!
More terror lies in light too bright for eyes to handle,
Than the dimly flickering fires of one lit black candle.

What reflects in a mirror, naught but flesh opposed,
Is less real than midnight’s embrace, hotly imposed!
What you see in my face, only a tiny facet of a form,
Is something primal and untamed as a raging storm!

Descent III: The Light of the Dawn

(No heresy of Gnosis, which many did contest,
Was ever so revealing as what I’ve addressed.)

In a ziggurat in the center of an Eden grown so wild,
Sits enthroned, the dawn star in the form of a child…
Her power undaunted, despite her unassuming form!
For the heart is the domain, of the angel of the morn.
She is the light in the darkness that I have described,
Her soul is the flame, from which sinners would hide.
Would you sacrifice your wickedness unto her now?
Only light can forgive darkness, by grace endowed!
The banner of a ****** cross on white, unashamed,
Flies from that temple I share, with she I just named.
How many died beneath it, in the days of the sword?
What lies were men told, that evil was God’s word!
Armor is heavy, when the cause of arms is not just…
It shines less brightly, when bloodshed makes it rust.
You were not there when I knelt and wept, faithless,
Abandoning God, and lusting for a kinder mistress…
But if you would love me, you must know its’ cause!
For love I ****** myself, and did so without pause.
Through Sophia, and the child angel, God illustrated,
Unto me, the depth of the mercy I doubted did exist.
Oh Sophia, first mother of mine, how oft I hesitated,
Blind to the grace that, within us all, does so persist!
Just as in grief Athena gave herself unto tragic death,
I gave myself unto the night, for I had not a thing left.
There are sights that cannot be unseen by inner mind,
And there are sensations that cannot be taken away!
Tear away the outer garment and there you can find,
All that man is truly clad in, hidden from light of day!
To the left hand is the path: to the right hand of glory,
It is the winding way I took, throughout my life story.

Let me show you the glories of the hour of witching,
When a single tear can break one’s spirit, twitching!
Let me take you to the ball where the undead dance,
Where the dire ravens gather and the satyrs prance!

Descent IV: The Madness of Love

(No heresy of Cain, which was silenced to rest,
Was ever so damning as what I just confessed.)

For love, a brother’s very blood would I so give up.
I would heat it like a tea and pour it in a golden cup!
For love, my very flesh would I scourge, and scar…
I would offer my pain to every god to bottle in a jar!
For love, all of the earth would I conquer: lay waste.
I would build it anew, all its’ fresher delights to taste!
All of these wicked deeds would I do for one I love,
But I would never forsake her, not for angels above!
We have all had the frightful thoughts rise, unbidden,
Of which these are but a sample, of what lies hidden.
Am I good because I did not commit such mad acts?
No, for the thoughts were still mine, sharp as an axe!
To know there is evil within us is wisdom of a sort…
It means good is within to define it, granting comfort.
Once was I a god, but fell because of the inner dark,
Growing jealous and wanton, until I would not hark!
Love redeemed me before, and it can do so again…
If you love me you can, with a kiss, my torment end.
I am not a beast for awaiting beauty’s loving bounty,
Though all who live have within them a true monster.
People misunderstand much, and oft speak contrary,
Seeing not the raven until it flies up under their rafter.
Be a goddess in mortal flesh, and share my throne…
So life can be a dream, beyond mere flesh and bone.
Perhaps one must sin to know salvation’s soft touch,
Making the blessed into hedonists hungry for feeling.
I have known ambrosial delights far beyond all such,
Not by denial but by an embrace that left me reeling!
It is man, who first called me the Prince of Darkness,
Even though, of old, no such title did I once possess.

What sacrifices, as are offered: to redeem the fallen,
Cannot bring them salvation as a flower gives pollen!
What boon you grant, must be for only we to enjoy,
Cannily breaching my soul like the gates of old Troy!

Descent V: The Paradise of Perdition

(No heresy of Lucifer, with a rebellious zest…
Could shine so brightly, from east unto west.)

Trapped in memories, and tormented by my visions,
I’ll struggle ever onward making the only decisions…
Which ever my destiny allowed me freedom to bear.
If you are lost in my nightmare you had best beware!
No one can save you if you hold not love most dear,
And cannot endure darkness to conquer your fear…
For terrible is the beauty of the paradise of perdition.
But I would rather be bound there, than by tradition!
There is freedom in darkness and light there aplenty,
Not tainted by those who sold their faith, for money.
If fallen I am, at least in one way I am still redeemed:
Ever was I honest, and by me no one was deceived.
My sins have been great, and I reveled in them all…
This is where they dwell, amidst the flowers ever tall.
You have seen the surface of my darkness laid bare,
Walking in the wastelands where few would so dare.
If you love me, we can make the desolations bloom,
Build a heaven in our hell and let light replace gloom!
Joy is hedonistic, but modern man dulls it insensibly.
So why not partake, of what others fear to indulge?
The fruit that I offer you is born of true irresistibility.
The twilight of the gods begins not without a tumult!
Tell me if you be, such an adventurous and fair maid.
As Persephone was to Hades, be unto me: unafraid!
Let me touch you softly, and show you carnal virtue,
So that all the things they taught you were wicked…
Are revealed as pleasures, when passion pays a due.
Let us live and love with zest, on finer ambrosia fed!
The flames that scorch others, will be for us sensual,
In Hell is that paradise granted to the true individual.

Let me be swept away, by tides of passion carried,
Where any wish might be granted but never harried!
Let us do as we will, and that shall be our only law,
When the Abyss comes for us, we dive in its’ maw!

Ave Eous! Amor Aeternus. Gloria Paradiso Inferni!
Amorem et Lucem! Ignus Aeturnus. Ave Luci via!

have you ever made a spider a Palestinian? i have, today, refreshing the paint-job on the back of my house, a whole family strutting away from fresh paint being applied (poets cure boredom, they simply don't know it), the cardigans erase & rewind, my uncle would be perfect with his age to work out the demographics - my age circuit, 30 and listening to the palette of those in full-throttle of the 1990s - anyway, refreshing the paint on the back of my house, not for dough, but for the sweat of my brow - learning i succumb to acrophobia on the ladder - but i did it anyway... i love phobias, they're not the fear, they're like a box of chocolates... you never know what will make you startle... it's not permanent, phobias shouldn't be considered permanent, they're too reflexive... and we all know that nibbling them in the reflective realm immediately suggests irrationality, not to a reaction, but to a continuum of a reaction: a ladder, a giant spider to boot. but i never watched a spider eat fresh paint... watched the ******* do the nibble on paint... ***** - a getty cardinal spider shooting paint pollutants with its leg, eating the Chernobyl cocktail, the rainbow melt in a puddle of oil spill... junkies everywhere; so that done, a beer and a quick look at the Olympics...

if table tennis was as relevant as table tennis -
i prefer table tennis,
judo is too cool too - classic Greek wrestling
with feet to match the hands -
i think in terms of the Olympics we're in
the Gobi desert - so many sports are shown only
once every 4 years, the once that don't make the dough...
i'd prefer the Olympics without the pop culture
exponents that keep us hungry for spectacles
during the 4 years apart -
hand-ball, Romania thrashed by Angola -
ladies first, of course,
and weight-lifting, weighs in at 48kg and lifts
80+kg... well Jihad John versus G.I. Jane...
a pretty match up... look, i came from a certain background
i won't be making politically correct statements,
if it weren't for my personal initiative i'd be scooping
grub from an industrial flat surface roof like my father...
i don't mind getting paid... i just love the fact that i will
and if ending up homeless, i have enough heart already
to start a religion, or something.
of course i'll miss my personal library of books and albums,
who wouldn't? i'll join the divorcee crew and it'll be
like it always was supposed to be.
but am i really that ridiculous? think about it,
i use ridiculous words in my vocabulary, after all i went
to a catholic school, it was bound to happen -
not true secular cool, sorry -
but is my usage of certain words completely penniless
more ridiculous in the form of an oligarch buying
a pearl entombed in a custard pie? of a yacht for a month
at Monte Carlo? seriously? if i utilise the words
Paraclete or Antichrist after just skimmed rereading of
a psychiatrist's religious venture in Jung's *answer to Job
am i as ridiculous as those barons?
i don't think so... i read that book like Flaubert instructed
concerning all books: read in order to live it -
a book is a transplant, some leave a heart, come a ****,
some a brain, some a pint of blood with a book...
i hope to leave the worm of hell licking your ear for a sloppy
Jim - read Jung... almost atypical German Christian
intelligentsia byproduct, neutral Swiss just after the second
world war... Freud read Nietzsche and so did Mussolini...
****** was very much Jung... it's a strange book...
we all know that the Greeks hijacked Judaism...
the Romans were like: whatever that meant...
shoved it into a cauldron of the prefix omni-
and attributed to the prefix geographies and geometries
all inclusive (herr deutsche came along though) -
but the Greeks hijacked the oddity of Judea at that
special time because they had scientific inclinations
rather than aesthetic inclinations of the Romans,
and they wanted answers... got **** all...
it's not the Jews that thought the Greek involvement
ridiculous, it was the Romans... hence the omni-
and -presence, -potency, etc. - the Greeks just had
those mythical names for ****... Logos, Sophia...
that's the funny thing with mythology and history -
the book of Revelation by the looks of it simply looks
like a redemption of Oedipus... mythology is a logic
of history where either none was recorded on papyrus
since no one required hush-hush intrigue talk and people
spoke to each other face to face rather than to a profile -
mugs and mustard seeds -
you can always buy the book, C. G. Jung answer to Job,
it's peppered with too much Greek, and very little
Roman care... the theological addition of a globalised world
(under monotheism, failed and thriving, whichever)
is bound to play the montage of omni- and simply add -
God = omnivocab - i have my limitations of words -
i had to censor or rather select a vocabulary in order
to process the interchanges to reach a conclusive churning
without an ultimate goal other than to preserve a continuum,
like Balzac boring everybody with the 19th instalment of
the human comedy. so after reading this book on religious
matters by a psychiatrists i'm sorta bothered...
i'm tripping... obviously not seeing any hyper-geometry
of your choice... i just think the Greeks did the most horrid
hoarding and looting know to man... which reflected
the looting of Byzantium and never reaching the Holy Land...
the barbarians never cared to be honest, they only
started caring when they started to castrate the boys
for the "holy" choir rather than circumcise them...
then they went Berserk... the book of revelation can only
mean the quantum mechanics of history, bound to
mythology - Oedipus was very real... the blackened
heart of Greeks even though Aristotle, Socrates, Plato...
that intellectual import and expression didn't help...
after all Eddie Gein gave birth to the latter part of the 20th
century pop culture... Texas Chainsaw... Haemorrhoid Hannibal,
House of a 1000 Corpses.. history and journalism
dismisses mythology, i dismiss journalism as simply
a hyper-sensitivity that keeps dialectics out of the picture,
a monologue of opinions... mythology just doesn't seem
that insensible given our perspective into history with Darwin
and millions of years ago with the sea-turtles... you know
how gossip works... it sooth the reality of it had happened...
because we prefer oysters and chicken thighs to digest than
the tales of Eddie, oh yeah... Fe Maiden... d'uh!
the Greeks looted the Hebrews to purge themselves of
Oedipus... the weakness came by keeping estranged with
Narcissus and iconoclasm... you want an extract?
bombshell blonde at your bidding -
assumptio mariae: mary as the bride is united with the son
in the heavenly-chamber, and as sophia, with the godhead.
basically Mary is a schizophrenic ****-child of lust
for a Roman centurion who makes the story of a ****** birth
her wish to bed-wet her son (Jesus) into joining **** John
and Toe into her ****** (***** *****, like her already)
in heaven - she thinks her body will **** her "******-birth"
son and her wisdom (Sophia is her alias, or nickname)
will **** god in the head. oh hell this is sacrilege -
i'm not afraid of it... boo! ha! caught you mouth dry with the
boogie man. so this is a psychiatrist reasoning his religion...
as i said, the Greeks had no omni- Roman put the **** back
into his boots before he starts river-dancing...
all these quizzical ultra-mythical words that the Greeks
used starting with the Logos and Hippocrates were attached
to the failed Platonism of the unconverted Damocles principle
and the tyrant succumbing to drink and never bound to
a sober wish for anything more - (i'm guessing his intentions
were laid with Nietzsche as source of discipleship) - in short
let's just say that Platonism failed in practice,
and it needed a populist movement, a redemption from
the curse of Oedipus came from Hebrew with the schizoid-birth,
Joseph bin Adam was: better bite that ****** of the cow-fruit
and remind her of the stoning practices around here -
oh it's all pretty much Eastenders around here, it's
not the ******* Vatican marble corridors, we're talking
Gaza dust sneezing while whipping the donkey's *** to
move along... split-mind: beautiful metaphor... premature
dementia, obviously misunderstood... if premature "dementia"
while so much creativity among the split-minded...
it's like all the zodiac signs became jealous of Gemini,
incorporating Gemini-Solipsism... well, i have a neck like a bull
and a *****-count like a charging bull... but the thinking
behind the 3.a.m. is kinda staggering... oh right, you want
more quirky clues from Jung's book:
- silvia loret
- maritza mendez
- aria giovanni             (get a hybrid and i'll believe in Disneyland) -
****, that ain't what i was going to write, never mind,
you get a chance to see the palette of what's fudge for
fucky-fucky sized 16+ and what the Renaissance men
knew would be better than duck-feathers in pillows;
- meister eckhart: gott ist selig in der seele
- puer aeternus: vultu mutabilis albus et ater
    (of changeful countenance, both white and black)
- pius XII's apostolic constitution (munificentissimus dei)
   words like muni-imus really make you train in
    grammatical arithmetic, don't they? playing doctor with
   them as to where to cut them for a aqua format of rivers
   is quiet like reciting a 5x table up to 30 (sometimes)
- oportebat sponsam, quam pater desponsaverat, in θalmis caelestibus habitare (the bride whom the father had espoused had to abide in the heavenly bridal-chambers): st. john damascene (encomium in dormitionem);

summa summarum?
Nietzsche answered Job... this is my answer to Jung as also an answer to Lot - **** your daughters, your wife turns into a pillar of salt... and i equate that as a precursor to the man of sorrows on the ****** crucifix - salt is a metaphor for misery (that's etymology for you); and the Roman phonetic encoding survived over the fates of Egyptian and Babylonian is precisely why the adopted son of Caesar later made his uncle's adopted nephew his successor - as with the four dogma canon gospels, we're replicas of the tetragrammaton... well... i was never confirmed, i'm one short of joining the god-men that came out from catholic school after choosing a name for themselves they could have changed not having wished to be known by the two names given to them by their parents... few did... i just ended up an acronym of Einstein: M C E.

You make me worry about losing my memory.
Because right now I've reached a stage where I've forgotten to forget you,
so if I really did lose my memory I wouldn't just be losing my identity,
but also you.
And the problem is, I can live without knowing myself,
but wouldn't survive a second without knowing you.

You make me want to write poems.
My fingers crave to type endlessly until I've written more words than
the bible and the encyclopaedias A-Z combined into infinity,
but my brain numbs.
I'm bilingual but thinking of you makes me inarticulate in both, and
fluent in clichés instead.

You make me feel like a 16 year old...scrap that, a 14 year old,
falling in love for the first time, and I'm neither.
Lately I've been spending a lifetime editing photos of you and me,
on Microsoft Paint, adding hearts and stars and lipstick marks.
And tagging you in every quote, video, song and photo on facebook,
provided they have a remote connection to something romantic.

You make me want to break Pastor Aeternus ,
after 12 years of Sunday school, as a student and a teacher.
I want to travel between Testaments, arguing with prophets and saints,
trying to explain how you make me feel, crave, arouse.
Because each time we meet, even before we speak, or touch,
the demon within me is awaken, beholding the paradise in your eyes.

You make me want to ****** you, even after 4 months,
and 3 weeks, of a solid relationship.
To wear make-up and high heels, to dress up or down or... not,
provoking, tempting and coaxing to take a bite out of the same apple,
but deeper, tying you to the bed and taking you in a kitchen, just
to see that pure expression of bliss on your face.

You make me search the depth of my soul, the bottom of my heart and
every corner of my mind, for more love to give you, everyday.
Paint the future in any colour, shape or form, and when you're done,
place me in it, because I will always fit right in, just like when we spoon.
Someday, when we're standing next to God I will ask him to show you
the timeline, when he sent you from heaven into my life, because

only an Angel could make this fragile heart, fall in love again.

Oh, Woman
He’s dreaming of your depth
like a synergy of effortless truths
your imaginary ***, a mystical shore
waxing and waning in violent tides
of affectionate sap
He would fly his kite running out of breath
like a child blessed with forgetting
puer aeternus
He would spin the hours in laughter,
in untamed visions
and here it is...
time revisited with gossamer touch
the bestiary revised with tender beings
making love  in the naked air
in the breeze of forgotten forests
in purple shy sheets
in the miracle of tomorrow
in unshed skins
imagine the bliss of the first breath
the dreams in geological strata

She’s just waiting for your rhyme
for you in primordial waters
unborn
now and again

I tell you it's hard to live with a man
Who's always so preoccupied
With making other people happy,
Especially at Yuletide.

Time and again I've asked why he
Prefers to live in this frigid zone.
And then he works each Christmas Eve
While I have to stay home alone!

I mean, why this bias of Christmas
With winter and snow year after year
When it's nice and steamy on Earth's
Beautiful southern hemisphere?

Don't get me wrong: I don't begrudge
His eleemosynary devotion
To making other people happy.
That's a kind and generous notion.

But his thoughts are always on
"The kids," and so, I feel neglected.
And yet I always put on the front
Of being cheerful, cool and collected.

Another thing I must admit:
It's hard for a wife whose hubby enjoys
An overwhelming fascination
Or infatuation with all his toys!

You might think the man is cute;
However, I am less enthralled.
He suffers from puer aeternus.
At least that's what I think it's called.

I tell him, "Dear, I understand
Your thoughtful desire to do good deeds,
But maybe you are overdoing it.
Don't forget: wives have needs."

I sometimes think the worst might happen
Whenever my spirits start to sink.
I have to muster up inner strength
To stop myself from taking to drink.

I'd love to be able to find a place
Where we could spend some time by ourselves.
It isn't easy to live with a man
Who spends all his time with reindeer and elves.

Oh, well…I guess it's true:
Every marriage has its flaws.
But try to imagine what it's like
To be Mrs. Santa Claus.

-by Bob B (12-25-18)

Mon père, fils de lièvre de métal et de coq de bois,
Est né sous l 'obédience du porc d'eau,.
Ma mère, fille de lièvre d'eau et et de chien de métal,
Sous celle de la chèvre de métal.
Je naquis sous le dragon d'eau un jeudi,
Chaotique et sauvage, à quatorze heures vingt-cinq
A la longitude soixante et un virgule sept ouest,
Quatre mille et six cent quarante neuf ans après le roi Jaune
Puer aeternus, dragon noir, tout feu tout flamme
Dominante intuition et adjuvant pensée !
Compatibilité optimale : serpent et rat !
Le sang qui court dans mes veines
C'est la Rivière Noire, le fleuve Amour
Je suis frère cosmique du Dragon Jaune,
Du Dragon Perle et du Grand dragon.
Et Dragon d'Eau je conçus avec un cheval de bois
Une chèvre de terre.
Vint ensuite un serpent d'eau
Qui engendra un lièvre de feu
suivi d'un serpent de terre.
Puis ce fut le tour d'un buffle de métal
Dont j'héritai d'un buffle de feu
Suivi d'un lièvre de terre.
Ma chère et tendre est un serpent d'eau.
Et si je remonte plus **** encore
Si je me replonge dans ma généalogie zoologique et élémentaire
Mes arrière-grands-pères paternels étaient chien d'eau et serpent de feu
Mes arrière-grands-pères maternels étaient lièvre de terre et cheval de métal
Mes arrière-grands-mères paternelles étaient rat de bois et cheval de terre
Mes arrière-grands-mères maternelles étaient lièvre de terre et cheval d'eau.

Je vous épargne les arrière-arrière
Et les trois fois arrière
De cette généalogie astrologique
Mais ne trouvez-vous pas étrange
Que je sois le seul dragon d'eau de cette lignée
Et que par exemple aucun tigre d'eau ni de papier ni de rhum n'y figure ?

it's still only the 12th of September and the drink is not working,
maybe half a bottle in and it'll kick-start something,
my phone was off, charging,
i turned it on around 9:30pm... i hate mobile telephones,
i know that people are finding it difficult
to escape from the object's attention-draining-leech-paradigm
but me? i remember all things: old school...
stationary objects... perfect stasis of the telephone
and even those old telephones you could stand alongside
Chris Rock doing a sketch of in Lethal Weapon 4...
well... that's beside the point...
   i was cleaning the house: thinking... shouldn't we have
a contract for the upcoming events? well, i did cycle
up to Buckingham Palace from Romford only yesterday:
lost about 2kg in weight in the process...
could i get in past the queues with a bicycle? fat chance,
i.e. no chance...
    switched my telephone on: ooh! what's this?!
Lyndon: are you available on the 14th and the 19th?
i checked some other thread...
of this month? that's no tomorrow, that's the day after?
what the hell is so impor.... ah! TANT...
  she's coming down from Edinburgh...
14th is going to be big... **** me... the 19th is going to
be even bigger...
lucky for me i found €90 in my drawer...
   plus i already have £60 in my wallet...
so that's me ******* off to the brothel after these two shifts!
lucky me! i'll be part of history: not that i'm
not already: but hell knows... maybe they'll put
me in a spot where they need a camera-friendly face...
tall... you know... typical *******...
i might be even a sniff's whiff away from the coffin being
detailed from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey...
so i replied: so this is for the Big Send Off of ol' Lizzie?
i'd be daft if i didn't accept the shifts...
7am sign in at Charing Cross St.? if it was a 7am
sign in time for a football match,
like it was supposed to be this passing Saturday:
i told them "*******"... not for a football match: no chance
in hell: plus we're talking Putney Bridge:
taking that ****** District "sloth" Line is not for my sort
of adrenaline palette...
oh man: i haven't listened to this record in a... long time...
the last time i listened to Jane's Addiction's Strays
i was in a middle of a field with a knife and a bottle of whiskey...
trying to commit myself to ハラキリ:
yes, i do know the difference between ハラキリ and
seppuku... the former does not allow any dignitaries:
no superior standing over you with a katana to decapitate
your head and "shove it up your ***"...
i was that desperate, from time to time...
as you get desperate not having any visible public
presence: no work, no money, no ***...
you think about: the last song i will ever hear...
when i perform the right of ハラキリ... spilling my bowels
onto the ground among the pebbles and wheat shafts...
or hanging... i dare say i'd probably die with a hard-on
when dangling: just like that...
or walking into a petrol station and "greasing" myself
up with some petrol: lighting myself up before walking
into the oncoming traffic and getting hit by a truck...
oh: i've been to these places of the mind...
they're like art galleries...
i revisited one of these galleries only recently:
on Sept. 3rd... at the London gig in memory of Taylor Hawkins
(no relation to Stephen, Stephen and his "disability"
while cruising around: "didn't **** himself")...
who?! Epstein Island... sure... but that's understandable:
although, no... i like doughnut sized plump plum WOO-MEN...
not tiny ******* tarantula geishas of puberty...
ugh! get me away from such specimens! shiver...
insert a hieroglyph for disgust...
i look at these sort of women and think:
i'd break her... too bad for my beard envy...
never mind my ***** envy... it sort of diminishes
when i forget about the size of my hands...
everything looks small and tender when i grasp "it" with them...

yeah: he (who? Stephen) really had all my sympathies...
it's just like with prostitutes: all the beautiful ones
perform the profession...
i kneel before them... they smoke cigarettes before
******* blah blah...
next time? on the 14th? i'm going to take a different
approach... i'm going to, "****" her... whoever
it is: i'm running out of choices: i need to find a new brothel...
she'll start talking... nope...
i'll take the bra off off her... her knickers too...
i'll force her onto the bed
and then pretend i'm eating oysters with my eyes
wide open...
**** it...
the times call for it... i'l be up at 4am.... i'll leave the house
at 5am to get for a 7am shift until:
**** me... 7pm... 12 hours....
tiredness makes me so *****: death and misery makes
be doubly oh so *****...
cider makes me *****...

Stone Temple Pilots' Art School Girlfriend:
memory... eating fried chicken and listening to that song
and some Red Hot Chili Peppers while my now
estranged uncle (my mother's brother) was cleaning
his Porsche... oh well: either **** happens or **** doesn't
happen... best prepare for a waiting game...
just at every opportunity you can get...

i'll **** all of them... i'm already missing one in the arsenal...
the one with the glasses...
****-hurt, am i? you'd need to talk to my grandmothers...
one: on the maternal side...
only called me to inform me of my best friend's passing
a day before he passed away...
there's no excuse! phones work both ways!
there's never a caller and a called-on...
he was dying for a month... she made him feel like
i didn't feel crap for him...
she called me when it was no longer available to see him!
since he was isolated in the confines of a hospice:
but she made him feel like i didn't care for him!
i would have been straight up there:
picking up his **** and what not...

so... why do i over-value the value of prostitutes?!
that's the valuable essence of prostitution:
you can't sink any lower, can you? well... "lower":
you can, sink, much lower... as a man... but not as a man...
getting wed to a beached whale...
my god, i've seen a few of those...
i'm verging on every sensible limit before
i'm just ready to puke...
it's unconscious: there's no social standard of awareness
when i see these stick-insect men of "form"
with those BLOBS...
i'm like: thank **** i had enough sense to visit enough
women in order to NOT settle on this "sacred" BUT one...
oh my god...

thirsty men... fair enough... they get their archaic genealogy
project happening... their "genes": whatever the ****
that means... the children be wearing glasses?
so? aquarium category of men... short-eyed...
bad bones? not too high? DIABTES: oh... mate...
that's a real killer... i'd rather pass on my genes to a *******
that a beached whale... a big abhorrent JABBA THE HUT
sort of "body"... resembling less body and more "structure"...
because: with those dimensions...
i'd require a museum hall to stash that sort of:
it's not a relationship... it's a ******* spectacle:
it's a state-funeral!

tender my ******* ***: let me sit on some hot charcoals
and jump up exclaiming some quote of Cicero's invest!
ugh... Americans... i hate the accent...
Empire does that to people: they're so, so... so solipsistic...
they approach everyone like they're their servants...
******* ugly YANKEES...
we're not talking American "royalty"...
we're talking American commoners... ******* solipsists...
sure... if you've been fighting rock-throwers
of Afghanistan with machine-guns...
the next big threat that's Russia is... ha ha:
you what?!
oh... evil genius ****** an evil ******: hey presto:
Russia was born!

i abhor Russophobia...
                          i abhor Russophobia like i abhor:
western, white womens' fetish for African love partners...
what?! i'm drunk... i write honestly when i drink...
i'd sooner side with the Arabs than allow the CUCKS
into my cognitive ranks of: the army derived from the pleasure
of thought...

what the **** is wrong with the Russians?!
what the **** is wrong with you?!
oh... wait... "apparently" this great big: "nothing"...
my god... this Afghan "Jamie" gave me a proper
stinker... each time i open the drawer...
my god... what a stinker...
i think i'll smoke the rest of it on the 14th...
no... the 19th... anyway... i'll be at the brothel
either day... given i found the spare €90...

i'll start hovering for the Afghan hash...
   who knows: maybe i'll get lucky... the Queen:
my sovereign just died... i might as well drink and get high:
i haven't been high for well over 10 years...
the President of America dies... so?
the Pope dies... so?
Margaret Thatcher died: so?
         ah... but ol' Queenie, ol' Lizzie dies...
come on..

    yes: i am a monarchist... it's a beautiful semblance of
what constitutes authority:
the actual symbolism of it: rather than the actuality
of its non-authority is what makes it so special!
any idiot ought to be able to see that:
any dim / half-wit... for ****'s sake... ought to give
her stature the desirable recognition! well: in passing...

i know:  swear a lot... i also drink a lot:
i also like to think that i **** a lot given any available
opportunity that i have to ****...
although: you can't really drink enough,
as you can't write enough...
or for that matter: **** enough...
not when watching *******:
that's an American invention... me?
brick walls... meditation... clouds... noble swans...
i certainly avoid video games:
i've started to avoid watching movies...
music: prickly... i'm getting more and more picky...
nothing new: nothing popular...

recently i watched a video of a guy who...
ha ha... bought a lobster in a supermarket
and turned it into a pet... Luke? Liam? **** knows:
sure as **** the nick's worth of Lucky: for a lobster...
i had a "pet" fox for about a month...
fed him leftover dinners for that period of time...
he stopped coming: maybe he was run over or:
whatever...
i'd love a pet crow...

i just stopped caring about getting rejected...
   i just went back to the source...
               couple WOMAN with DARWINISM...
FAIL! i'm talking a massive ******* FAIL!
now. ****** yourself...
couple WOMAN with the COPERNICAN REVOLUTION...
what do you get?! SUCCESS!
why? does anyone know the difference
between: ASTROLOGY AND ASTRONOMY?!

ah: ha ha ha!
London: that know destination for all the peoples
of the world: the Jerusalem of the North:
here you will find all tongues of the world being spoken,
here, you will find that i will drape "ownership"
over this "barricade" with a single BREATH:
let alone a word...
i will not speak a single word of authority
over these lands...
i will claim them with a breath in my "delusional"
circumstance as i go about: "fixing the roof"...
the constellations are: "a bit wonky"...

i write these words without having endeavoured
to collect my dues from the high-jackers that
are magic mushrooms...

enough of psychiatry! enough of the drugging
of masculinity! ALCOHOL! ******!
MORE ALCOHOL! MORE ******!
i've had, ENOUGH... of this pseudo-castration
policies of:
sure thing... sure sure... the black Martin Luther Jr.,Sr...
whatever cam clap about the **** of their
"sisters": **** me: perhaps all the white girls
have a black-man fetish... i get it: they are actually
handsome... but? why can't i reciprocate?
i don't want to **** black women...
"racist" if i do, "racist" if i don't?!
ha ha!

        perfume me akin those lyrics from David
Bowie's Rebel Rebel:
ha! !god! save "they" gracious kueen...
    king?! eh? queen? qing... we're talking about
a Chinese dynasty?! they him / or / her?
in the glitter of the shadows: escaping from the castle
of the night: i ask the question:
in the realm of the Three Kings...
quis es? quo vadis?
    who are you? where are you going?
i always having to leverage this sentence with
"my" anaesthesiologist...
last time i uttered this sentence:
i was having my wisdom tooth pulled out:
i asked him before the snooze:
quis es? quo vadis?!
i asked the question like i might ask the moon:
quid: ad hoc... in situ... nox ergo qualis... cur vos?!

trouble travels far... peace is left secured
and closer to home...
there's too much jealousy in the world...

HIC AETERNUS LINGUA: this language will
never die... not the scribbling details...
unto God i give the Hebrew scribbles and the Arabic
and the Sanskrit scribbles...
unto me? the LATIN TEXT...
we will "learn" to "share"...
                               i will not give up these tongues
composed through these letters...
better my death before i give Serbia up to your
"next" Ottoman onslaught! not now! not ever!
mine! mine!

these children: are: mine!
now... that we... do we have a bargain?! we better have...
consult the Israeli republic of "things"...
i already nicknamed my Maine **** Quarus: ******...
talk to him in meow-meow... i serious don't care...
you ask for a better audience...you're note getting them!
i came among them! i listened to them!
i: worshipped, them! i, was, rejected, by them!
now? i'm accustomed to their ways...
eh... traffic: something... that's what they are, to me:
TRAFFIC, SOMETHING;
this! is! the basis! of what's! supposed! to be!
retrospective! of! what's! supposed! to be made! exemplar! of humanity! but! nonetheless! isn't!!
sure sure: let's just ******* FAKE IT... let's just: FAKE IT!
******* galore from where? most probably lazy ***
Somalia.... it's jot even "racist" by now:
just racial predictability... Somalians are either pirates
or lazy-***-munchers; it's not a ******* "mystery"...
like the god "himself" uttered: ehyeh asher ehyeh...

WHAT?1 PROBLEM?! WHITE GIRL PROBLE-
  some bM?
DON'T ******* TALK TO ME ABOUT
WHITE GIRL"PROBLEMS"!

some "baron" of a rhythm:, huphm!

We become the stories we tell.
What the hell? That

Is a common question not answerable.
Lack of link, what what the hell?
AI ignore it, we call it another idle phrase,
used to express befuddlement.

A curious fuzziness. Impulse to pull
sense from a hat. Threaded thoughtwise.
Ha, I've a mind…

Fiddle with the tuner, the ****'s a little loose.

Hushshshsh, gentle gentleman, wisdom whispers
listen
easy is never the bad way, the hard way, offers glory,
dare the devil and win, the right way, -- walking away.

ignorant bliss, buzzing beings wished, was
available this morning,
sunshine, softly singing silly kids morning noises,
calling out countdowns to the chrome yellow bus…

Goodbye, Columbus. Literary allusion to unread books.
And shirtless Ali McGraw, in the movie. Artsy flick.
And then, Far from the Maddened Crowd, same chick…
with me, at the movies, not in the movie, me
and Blue, whose brothers I barely knew, we
saw three films together, we had raw unpleasing ***,
three curiously wondering why we only saw highbrow films.

Third one was Gordon Parks, The Learning Tree.

There was one movie house in the town.
It was a four-square spinoff revival church by 1985.

Really,  you know how lucky you are, boy, knowing
"to be"
as the answer we all answer Hamlet, in each role
his messed up character, appears in to offer
the one real question,
as if being were once a choice, each day…

ah, we. E-t, et et-ern
from Latin aeternus
"of an age, lasting, enduring, permanent, everlasting, endless,"
contraction of aeviternus
"of great age,"
from aevum "age"
(from PIE root *aiw-
"vital force, life; long life, eternity").
Good men, wombed or un, must
Endure unto the end…

from Latin indurare "make hard,"
in Late Latin
"harden (the heart) against,"
from in- (from PIE root *en "in") + durare
"to harden," f
rom durus "hard," f
rom PIE *dru-ro-, suffixed variant form
of root *deru- "be firm, solid, steadfast."

Tough nut. Hard row. Slippery slopes,
deep dark holes, boggy winter swamps…

As the world turns, the young and restless age.