Tell me, Gentlemen:
while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity,
did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter?
how did it feel,
fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings,
defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******* bombers?
did it hit you like a G force?
when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet?
when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes,
when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses,
tell me how it felt, Gentlemen.
will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers?
if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story?
tell me, Gentlemen,
what was it like to fly?
infinite respects,
Curlie Fries Mcgee

England 1942

The war was endless she thought it would be over in six weeks when it was declared.
now three years later she found herself in this airfield crowded with young fighter pilots flying Spitfires and the bomber crews flying the stalwart Lancaster bombers.

She was twenty eight now getting to that  age of being called a spinster of the parish. The young airmen were interested in her but really only for one thing.
She worked in the photography department of the RAF and developed pictures taken by the recon airmen of France and Germany and Holland .
Recently an American had joined her in the darkroom.
He was a big man and  had a crooked smile and big hands he lay on the belly of the bomber plane taking pictures he laughed and said he never fired a gun in his life.
And that he had no beef with Germans he just fired his camera at them.
He liked to develop his own pictures and they worked alongside each other in the darkroom all though the war.
She got used to his crooked smile and big hands. He got used to her being there.
The war finally ended and he went back to the States. Where he opened a small photography store and built a darkroom with his own hands.
When it was finished he returned to England on a ***** steamer to save money. He knocked on the ladies door that had worked with him in the darkroom.
She answered and he asked her for her hand in marraige.
She accepted his proposal and they sailed back to new York.
When she explored the photography shop she found the darkroom.
On it was pinned a note in his nice neat handwriting.
It said I fell in love with you in the dark my love.
But I want you spend the rest of of your life following the light with me.
She was to be my grandma and he was my grandfather.

My father was born a year later
he had a crooked smile and big hands with a love of photography.
His specaility light and shadow.
I was born much later and did not share the family love of photography and was let off by God with only a crooked smile no big hands.
Instead I used to get into trouble at school for writing poems in the margins of my exercise books.
Grandma passed away a little while ago
i was given the task of clearing her personal items from the house.
In her memory box I found the note
in Grandfathers hand that he pinned on the door
of his darkroom so long ago.
It moved me to write this story.

So Go follow the light Grandma
Look for a big man
with a crooked smile and big hands
Hes waiting for you.

                                                    War
        ­                                         is good
                                            for business
                                       both big and small
                        Profits will rise and make inflation fall
                        But soldiers, sailors, airmen, warriors all
                                        must heed the call
                                             face fighting
                                                  even
         ­                                        Death

In chapter twelve  We had come to the countdown. I described  in detail in this chapter what happened after that, then as I was finishing my description of the dramatic and frightening spectacle that took place, thereafter, the screen of my computer was suddenly wiped clean! Imagine my frustration and annoyance.  I could not think of anything that I might have done to cause it! I started again, from the countdown on chapter twelve and re-typed the whole chapter almost word for word. While I was checking what I had written, the screen blanked again. I had the strangest feeling that someone was looking over my shoulder! Was Big Brother watching me? I really don't know but I have my suspicions!!!
I feel it prudent to continue without going into any more detail about the test's at Maralinga. After the test's, we had a monumental celebration, and finally boarded an old passenger ship at Adelaide, all six hundred plus airmen eager to be home. The ship was called The New Australia, and believe me when I say that there was nothing new about her! She was formerly used to transport The Ten Pound Pommies  (immigrants) to a new life in Australia. We left Adelaide and sailed across The Great Australian Bight, to Freemantle, where six hundred airmen went off to Perth to avail themselves of the brothels in Row street. I was not among them, instead, I and several others were detailed to various duties around the ship. I was part of the fire picket, (the authorities seemed to think that the ship might self combust at any moment!) We left Freemantle that same evening and headed out across The Indian Ocean, which, if memory serves, took us twelve days. then we stopped for a few hours, (probably to refuel,) before entering The Suez Canal, where The new Australia had a slight contratomp with another vessel in an area called The Bitter Lakes.  She had previously had a slightly more serious contratomp on the way out, and had been obliged to dock at Singapore, where the hole in the bow was filled with concrete (two hundred tons of it). Then we sailed down The Red Sea to Cyprus, stopping only to refuel. We crossed the Mediterranian Sea, we were enjoying a very hot windless day, the sea was an absolute flat calm, overhead the clouds began to form into massive great thunderheads. We were all expecting a storm, but slowly things began to form around the ship and in the space of five minutes we were looking at four separate water spouts which surrounded the ship and dumped thousands of gallons of sea water (and numerous small fish) all over the decks. The Bay of Biscaye was also a flat calm and the days were a little cooler now as we approached the South coast of England. (It was winter after all).
We all felt very homesick at the sight of England's green mist shrouded hills, and I suddenly realized that I had not seen mist since leaving England. We left the ship on the twenty fourth of December, The New Australia was sent to the breakers yard, while we all headed homeward to spend Christmas with our families, on two weeks leave. I travelled by train to London, and then caught the tube to Hounslow East and the Two three seven to Parrotts corner. My parent's were overjoyed at my unexpected arrival, Mum made me a cup of tea, Dad handed me an apron. "Come on Son, we have a lot to do before we close!" I couldn't help smiling, It was business as usual, and I was a part of it, uniform or not.
After a quick cup of tea we worked through to twelve thirty, to finish our work, as usual. Christmas eve or not, we had to finish our work. Tired but jubilant, we settled down to enjoy our Christmas as a family and I had one more important  thing to do. My Alsation Paddy had been missing me as much as I missed him, We went for a long walk in the darkened streets and when he had walked enough he led me home, and slept beside me. After that, at the merest mention of bed, he would dash upstairs and wait under the bed for me to come, No amount of coaxing or threats would get him out, and he would nip me if I tried to pull him out, but in the mornings he used to wake me with a good licking, washing my face, before running down stairs for his breakfast. It felt so good to be home again, even if it was only for two weeks!
                                                         The end, or is it!

I pray the Lord their souls to keep
Make the days as short as sleep
My kid, an Airman, the time is nigh
Spread their wings and let them fly
Save the world and protect our land
In the air and on the sand
Teach them skills and plant a seed
To live an oath, the Airmans Creed
In their blues, us parents grin
Aim high, our Airmen, Fly, Fight, Win
-Duane Townsend

HERE is a face that says half-past seven the same way whether a ****** or a wedding goes on, whether a funeral or a picnic crowd passes.
A tall one I know at the end of a hallway broods in shadows and is watching ***** eat out the insides of the man of the house; it has seen five hopes go in five years: one woman, one child, and three dreams.
A little one carried in a leather box by an actress rides with her to hotels and is under her pillow in a sleeping-car between one-night stands.
One hoists a phiz over a railroad station; it points numbers to people a quarter-mile away who believe it when other clocks fail.
And of course ... there are wrist watches over the pulses of airmen eager to go to France...

Young Americans, all volunteers
Sampling English women and English beer
Over sexed, over paid and over here

In the scrubby bit next to Sally's house there used to stand another cottage. If you scrape away some soil you can find floor bricks. A german fighter tailed some bombers back, shot one down as it made its final landing approach.It crashed short, demolishing the cottage. When Sally first moved in there were bits of metal laying around and dials hanging in the trees. An old boy turned up one day, a surviving crew member. They gave him some bits of his old plane to take home.

On planes with names like
Frivolous Sal, Dauntless Dotty
Million $ Baby, Memphis Belle

Sylvia was a child during the war.They saw a german fighter shot down, the pilot managed to open his chute. He walked up to their house, knocked on the door and gave himself up. Sylvia's dad marched him down to the Police Station.

Braving the freezing hostile skies
Thousands and thousands of you guys
How can we thank you
After you've died?

Next to Diane's house, hidden in the trees are the remains of nissen huts built as accommodation for the airmen. Not much left after 70 years, a few concrete block walls. Now and again she used to see some misty-eyed old guy gazing into the trees.

Long after you're gone
The land remembers
Bears the scars
Of those few years of turmoil

David is a gardener in our village, nice guy, should have retired by now. Don't think his father ever kept in touch.

Mike Marshall  Patriotism

The politicians have been milking the patriotism cow for some time, at the same time they want to ignore veterans' needs. As soon as some citizen on the street or representative in Congress or the white house starts espousing patriotism, a big red flag goes up in my mind. "Patriotism" is the first refuge of carpetbaggers, and it trips my gag reflex.

True patriots are not shouting their esprit from the rooftops or in front of microphones. True patriots are quietly doing patriotic things and they ask for no recognition for doing what seems natural and necessary.

Our alleged leaders get us into wars that are unnecessary and often detrimental to our own best interests. Our soldiers, sailors, and airmen do their bidding, right or wrong. They do so without asking for anything from us except support. And we can support the soldiers without necessarily condoning the leaders who put them in harm’s way, and often forget about them when they come home, unless it's election time. Then these same self-gratifying idiots bring out the flags and thump their chests.

Let's remember the flag is merely a cloth with a design on it that represents some very great and lofty goals, including the right to express our opinions, our dreams, and our dissent. We cannot lessen the worthiness of those goals by burning a red white and blue piece of fabric or kneeling during the playing of our national anthem. But we can damage those aspirations and the symbolism of our flag and anthem by denying our fellow humans the right to express them.

Let's focus instead on upholding those things we believe in. Let's buy a meal for a homeless person. Let's make sure our neighbor does not have to choose between eating and buying needed medicine or health care. Let's ensure children don't have to go hungry. Let's endeavor to provide an affordable education to all of our children because that secures their future and the future of this country. The thing I have the least time to consider is whether or not some human is burning a flag or taking a knee somewhere. And standing for the anthem doesn't make you a patriot any more than wearing a cowboy hat makes you a cowboy.

Each verse of The Star-Spangled Banner ends with "O'er the land of the free." Both the flag and the anthem symbolize the freedoms our forefathers gave their lives for. Why? Because they valued those principles (freedom of speech, etc.) so highly. Freedom of expression is freedom of speech. That was decided hundreds of years ago. I would defend anyone's right to freely express themselves. That means they can stand, kneel, squat, sit, lay down, or stand on their heads. But I will never defend any person's right to suppress the very rights that our flag and anthem symbolize.
I reject the divisiveness of Trump and every other small mind that does not understand or appreciate how freedom of speech actually works and is actually represented by our flag and anthem.
The ultimate disrespect to our country, to our flag, to our national anthem, to our founding fathers, and to the soldiers who suffered for us to protect our right to take a knee is to deny the absolute freedom of speech embodied in our Constitution.

Go on, young soldier
Go where we say and die.
Take this gun and shoot,
Don’t bother to ask why.
Carry on this war we wage
Though it doesn’t make sense.
We invade anyone we want
And then call it all defense.

Go on, airmen and women.
Climb into expensive planes.
Fly over countries, drop bombs.
Don’t expect anyone to explain.
Line up ground targets well
In your high-power sights.
We have declared them enemies
And they don’t have rights.

Sail on, you navy people.
Turn their seas into ours.
Help our country reduce them
To rubble and dead in mere hours.
Transport equipment and personnel
And help them change things,
Then go to free ports on R and R
And buy your sweethearts rings.

Tromp on, military machine.
Make the world into the USA.
After all, they’re just wogs
And don’t have a thing to say.
If they were worthwhile people
They would be from back home.
Places like Akron, L.A. and Nome.

But they are not real people or
They would not get in our way
And try to stop our holy advance
To be the only people to stay.
When this endless war is done
We will be all that remains.
Be part of the American way, and
**** or get killed for your pains.

Leaving the camp behind, we sped along the road, in a cloud of choking red dust, proceeding towards an area known as The South Australian Dessert. Barren, almost featureless country where the daytime heat was almost unbearable and night time temperatures were close to freezing.
During the journey, my thoughts drifted back to the time of my call up.
I was one of the last to be drafted into The Royal Air Force
My dad needed me desperately in the shop, he was working too hard. I resented the fact that a certain second rate comedian was excused because he claimed it would damage his career, what about my career, and my family? I was chosen-along with six hundred plus airmen, to be a part of Task Force Antler, of which you will hear later, In the mean time, we were waiting in transit in a camp in Glostershire, ROYAL AIR FORCE INNSWORTH.  There was nothing to do on camp really, except clean latrines that had been cleaned thoroughly already, I was bored, and my dad needed me. I soon discovered a gap in the system, which allowed me to go home every Wednesday afternoon, and return on Sunday evening. My dad was very pleased with my help, and it became a regular routine, until one Wednesday evening. I had just walked into the shop when the phone rang. It was my friend Harry who had been covering for me. "Bernard, get back to camp, we are being kitted out in the morning!  I was very tired, after spending the afternoon hitch hiking approximately one hundred miles, much of which I had covered on foot! I had a quick cup of tea, kissed my mum goodbye, and left holding a sandwich in one hand and my holdall in the other. I was going to need a miracle  to get me back on time, it was a notoriously bad route for hitch hiking!  more to come.

Dead soldiers, lined up in a row,
Short history, how many more to go?
Dead sailors, some of them in an alley
Not sailing anywhere anymore are they?
Dead airmen, and also dead marines.
What if we’d been where they’ve been?
Men and women, fathers and mothers
We are burying our sisters and brothers.

Hut, two, three, four,
What the hell are we fighting for?
Five, six, seven, eight!
I’ll go to heaven if it’s not too late!

Dead soldiers, not just bottles of beer;
More come back home dead every year.
Used people, we let them get thrown away
By listening to what rich crooks had to say
Their empty promises were all about glory
But remember, most of that word spells gory.
Expendables, in the Big Game of profit.
The proceeds, none of them ever got it.

Hut, two, three, four,
What the hell are we fighting for?
Five, six, seven, eight!
I’ll go to heaven if it’s not too late!

Salute and makes parades, of course
And pin the cheap medals on a corpse,
A kid under orders to invade and ****
Hoping leaders wake, but they never will.
The politicians get rich in office when
They sing  patriotic war songs again.
Someday we all can stop all the killing
If love, providence and all gods are willing.

Hut, two, three, four,
What the hell are we fighting for?
Five, six, seven, eight!
I’ll go to heaven if it’s not too late!

It was a new day, the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky.
It was a special day-one to be long remembered.
I was seventeen, serving Queen and country
in a distant land, a far distant land.
As far from England's shores as it was possible to go.
Two covered trucks awaited us-their engines running.
"Climb aboard chaps, we don't want to keep Dr. Penny waiting.
The corporal sounded tense, we all felt tense- tension was in the air!
In the rest of the camp, the  six hundred men would soon be assembling, every man to be accounted for- except for myself and thirty nine other airmen, we had a different role to play. We left the camp. "good luck" someone shouted. "God help us" the white faced corporal said quietly.
                                                      To­ be continued.

The flowers grew from the craters where
The bombs ripped open the ground,
Back in that terrible time of war
When God in his heavens frowned,
I just remember destruction, piles
Of bricks where houses had stood,
And years along, new growth began
Where Airmen lay in the wood.

Their plane came down in the poplar trees
That had stood in a long, straight line,
Tearing a swathe of destruction through
Where we’d played in a former time,
And just beyond was the surgeon’s house
That had boasted a Roman Spa,
Now flat, and exposing the Roman Tiles
That survived the previous war.

I’d go down there with Priscilla, who
Lived out by the railway track,
We’d play our games in the cellars
That had lain open, since the attack.
I hadn’t taken much notice of
The flowers that grew in the weeds,
That sprang into life like mushrooms, when
The bombs had scattered their seeds.

Priscilla did, she would smell the scent
That had wafted up from the flowers,
And say, ‘I’ve never seen these before,
They’re new, they’re meant to be ours.’
She’d pick the flowers and take them home
And attempt to make them thrive,
But once removed from their sacred ground
They’d rarely stay alive.

I didn’t handle the flowers as much
So I wasn’t quite as ill,
When she went down with a jaundice that
The doctors couldn’t heal.
They tried their best and they traced it to
The flowers she’d taken home,
A level of radioactivity
Was the reason that they’d grown.

The ground has been cordoned off for good
With a special yellow tape,
While she and I are forbidden to go
To the place that was our escape.
They keep her tied to a wheelchair where
They attempt to hide her sores,
While I’m in a sort of cage since I
Grew skin like the dinosaurs.

David Lewis Paget

dabnagit  Travel back to before the nation began
and see Crispus Attucks killed — the
first American to die for American freedom, a freedom denied to his African and Native American forebears. Take a knee to honor his sacrifice and the other four dead.

Take a knee in grief that he who would become president minimized these first martyrs as "a motley rabble of saucy boys, negros and molattoes, Irish teagues and outlandish Jack Tarrs.”

Stand at Morris Island, South Carolina, where American soldiers fought to keep a young nation whole, a field of blue with 35 stars, not 22. Take a knee for the 54th Massachusetts Voluntary Infantry and its score killed at Fort Wagner, a hundred more presumed dead.

Take a knee in grief that the U.S. Army rescinded its promise of equality and paid the 54th little more than half a white soldier's monthly pay. Take a knee in awe at those who refused any pay that was less, yet died with "Massachusetts and Seven Dollars a Month!" on their lips, defending their white comrsdes' retreat.

Take a knee for Sgt. Medgar Evers, who defeated fascists at Normandy only to be killed by them once he was back home.

Take a knee from the suckerpunch by a U.S. senator from Mississippi in 1917, who said the return of black veterans would “inevitably lead to disaster.” Once you “impress the ***** with the fact that he is defending the flag” and “inflate his untutored soul with military airs,” it would be easy for him to conclude “his political rights must be respected.” Take a knee to honor those who died defending freedom. Take a knee to weep for the sharp rise in lynchings after both world wars — following the return of those impressed, untutored ***** souls inflated with military airs for having served.

Look at the lists, look at the videos, look at the witness testimony, look at the double standard: Amadou Diallo. Manuel Loggins Jr. Ronald Madison. Kendra James. Sean Bell. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. (Take a knee; this could take awhile.) Akiel Denkins. Gregory Gunn. Samuel DuBose. Brendon Glenn. Freddie Gray. Natasha McKenna. Walter Scott. Christian Taylor. Ezell Ford. Akai Gurley. Laquan McDonald. (Take a breath.) Tamir Rice. Yvette Smith. Jamar Clark. Rekia Boyd. Shereese Francis. Ramarley Graham. LaTanya Haggerty. Margaret LaVerne Mitchell. And on and on. And on.

Take a knee for the unarmed, or subdued, or even fleeing men and women killed by officers pledged to protect and serve. Take a knee too for the officers killed by gun-toting gangsters…or by homeowners fearing a home invasion. While you're at it, take a knee for the more than 50 people killed every year by toddlers exercising their Second Amendment rights.

And take a knee for the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who died so that a football player can take a knee as long as some people are shot by police in the back, or even when down, or even after they're on their knees…while others for some reason are far less likely to be shot in the same circumstances. Take a knee, Rodin-like, and ponder why.

Take a knee and join those who are taking a knee out of respect not only for the flag, but for the republic for which it stands, one nation…

(Striving to be a more perfect union)

…under God…

(Who "created all men equal"; "male and female he created them.")

…indivisible…

("Build that wall!" "Lock her up!" "Fire the sons of ******* if they won't stand for this flag but run them over if they protest a rebel flag!")

…with liberty and justice for all lives can't matter unless black lives matter.

So for these all, and many more, take a knee. Take your time, but take some heart. Then lift each other up and lock your arms. Play ball.

All the dead soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines.
Why can’t we see what all of them have seen?
Why didn’t we notice that nobody had attacked us?
We urged them to invade and **** as if it was practice.
You know, war games that turned out a bit too real?
How come those giving orders don’t seem to feel?
Why do they keep overtaking countries overseas
That did nothing more to us than perhaps displease?

They angered us by having some resources we wanted.
This should remind of how the ancient countries hunted
And robbed, ***** and murdered in their neighbor’s lands.
Why that was acceptable then, nobody really understands.
Yet today, when we are supposed to be so **** intelligent
We are just as bloodthirsty, but dressed a bit more elegant.
We repeat the cycle, generation after mindless generation
And then dare to call ourselves a democratic nation.

How is that possible? Nobody ever came and asked me
It it was fine to send thousands of troops overseas.
Nobody asked me if it was a good thing to **** and maim
Then used poisoned media to make the victims take the blame.
Instead leaders and clerics stood in their pulpits and brayed
That if we didn’t follow their lead, it meant we were afraid,
Or, worse yet, we were the traitors and were all liable
If we didn’t do what they read from old parts of the bible.

It becomes “an eye for an eye”, even when we aren’t hurt.
We come up with stupid axioms to treat others like dirt.
We send our sons and daughters, to invade and be killed
Because some rich ******* demand it on Capitol Hill.
It will be this way forever more if we don’t make it stop.
We, the average voter, must become the traffic cop.
We must elect only leaders without blood in their eye.
If we don’t this big "Godly nation" is nothing but a lie.

The measure of time

An insatiable thirst
Quenched
By the flickering flames of change
As constant darkness
Opens up
To expose
The smiling faces........ arranged
In a ragged circle
As transmutation will
Click a quick tick
Time sets forth a measurement
And right then
Measurement becomes relevant
And the wall
Still and silent now
As it settles into the new place
Having moved backward......
Giving human spirit
A little more space
Nobody knew it right then
But space
Just got bent ..for the very first time
---------And GOD smiled---------
Coal carried the flame forward
Far beyond
Its original role
Iron became harder to tame
As they blend and bend
Creating and celebrating
The birth
Of the very first tool
And the wall slid back
Exposing a gap
In the continuum
As well as a broken chain
So GOD stepped in
Taking a chain in each hand
As to cover the span
Linking the past to the present
Creating a future
Where history will be amassed
To be categorized
Analized
Sorted and filed
And GOD held it all together
-------And again GOD smiled-------
That smile
Must have been
MAJESTIC
As he watched the intrepid airmen
Sail off the dune and fly toward the ocean
Taking a leap and an unfathomable chance
HE may have laughed
As the slapstick unfolded
The two brothers laughing and whooping
As each does their version
Of a happy dance
To a whole new future -- to be
That they alone
Had the ability to see
It did change quite magically
Unfolding like a roadmap
Inspiring technology
With each turn of the page
No smile could have been present
As fat man lumbered in
And little boy followed
Not too long after
And that guaranteed
The absence of smiles
-------The suppression of laughter------
Tragic
Still
The wall slid backwards
By more than the QUOTA
The pattern expected
Considering the folly of man
Whose intelligence suddenly
Accelerating so rapidly
That bit by bit
Humanity split
Religiously
Using a crutch
Saying its all just
Too much
"If GOD wanted man to fly
He would have given us wings"
As others decry
"You spit in the eye
of He who gave us the gift
of creativity
Intelligence and tenacity---
--maybe a bit of bombastity
All fathers want their children
To excel
So shouldn't that be true
For GODS children as well?
That wall is not to be breached
Circumnavigated
Undermined or climbed
We will never realize
The height necessary
To rise above the lofty wall
To see the sacred sights
Where GOD delights
In teasing us
Bit by bit
Inch by inch
Allowing us
To push the wall forward
Encouraging us to learn as we grow
As you know
We would have never  moved forward
Beyond the doubts of those
Who say that we're playing GOD
Then burying their heads in the sand
Dooming us to crawl
Instead of proudly walking tall
If GOD didn't encourage his children
By stepping back
And smiling upon us
As we seek to find wisdom
Just as we need it
We take pride in pushing ahead
As if we somehow
Actually did
It on our own
Managing to move that wall
----And that has to give
GOD
The biggest laugh of all.

Walking but not finding
The struggle feeling like a binding
The possibilities in what could be
Lifted being my own accord
Oh help me please Lord!
A dream becoming my introduction to the sky
Heavens guiding me in what is allowed
The promise in I was born to fly
It’s the take off with the birds and I
A flight beyond any Airmen’s manual
God’s wings in flying me stable
No wing’s required as it is God’s spiritual lift
The Rainbows are just as I pictured them
They are full of color assortments and bloom
I am not ready for Heaven
My time hasn’t come
Doves are purifying my heart
The Earth below looks like a landscape
If people only knew, the sky is God’s escape
Chosen ones only have that right
It’s the warmth being God’s sincere light
I have walked from cloud to cloud
Mystery beyond any mist
I have seen outer space
But there is a further trace
Heaven partially seen, but haven’t been
I am walking the sky beyond my wildest dreams
I have shook hands with the Angel’s
But I can’t arrive at the Heaven’s gates
This is not mistake
My name is not on reservation to date
To the unbeliever, they can’t relate
Faith is what you need
This is written in scripture being a creed
If I continue to walk the closer I will get to Heaven
It’s the longer I continue to pray unto this day
Belief in biblical words I say
The walk can become long and painful
Yet as I walk it shouldn’t be fearful
Praying hands are what keeping me in the air
No man on Earth can compare
It’s the goodness I want to share
Walk on, walk on and continue to walk on
Heaven’s watch and preparation and the journey of preservation, is the movement of my continuous salvation.

i'm a mangled sort of man... i'd love to tease the whole alpha-male / beta-male dichotomy... use some other greek letters (i will use one) like γ-male or σ-male... someone in history once said... i'm the alpha & the omega... well... i'm an omega-male... i go to brothels, i ride a bicycle at night on Sunday when the air is crisp and devoid of wind and traffic pollution: devoid of traffic to begin with... reaching speeds that make my eyes water... my estimate it... 30mph... i don't date: never have, never will... why would i pay for food and hope: "hope" for getting laid, when i can bypass all the ******* with a *******? i don't own a car because i don't want to pay road tax... i don't want to pay for parking... i don't want to pay for insurance or an annual m.o.t. check... obviously i have to fork out on an inner tube from time to time... a new tire... some chain grease... even on the outskirts of London... if i wanted to cycle into London to admire it... hell... it beats walking in and around the sights... even if it's a 15 mile sloth ride's worth past Little Bangladesh of: from Ilford through to Mile End... it's a lot easier not being native of this land... even the foreigners have this knack of citing: born & bred... well... born 'ere... hardly bred... i was living on these shores from 1994... my father came in 1990... he would have been legally allowed to stay in 1997... since... every illegal immigrant living for 7 years... covertly... in England would be allowed to stay... we were deported in 1997... on the day that we heard princess Diana was killed in a car crash... my grandfather was visiting... trauma... the day before we went to a makeshift entertainment park with... oh i remember it well... the name of the ride is a bit murky... but it was like a ferriswheel that started spinning horizontally before slowly changing to a vertical rotation... i was fierce in competition sliding a ball into several holes on an elevation to win a... crimson rottweiler imitation plush toy for my mother... which i did... the next day princess Diana died... the home office came... with the police... an old school version of Batman & Robin was playing on the t.v.... my father made a runner... they caught him... i watched as my parents were hand-cuffed... in my room i was standing looking at the wall when a home office police officer came in and said: earnestly... nice computer... i turned around and gave him... eh... a death stare... when the commotion was over i was sobbing and punching the wall... while my grandfather didn't know what to do... they released my parents after a day's worth of interrogation... we were politely asked to leave the country in a space of a month... or two weeks... so we sorted everything out... gave a newly bought cat to my ****** uncle etc. and left... for a year... the world cup was happening in France (1998) while i watched the final in complete blackout with my great-grandmother, Mary... i even remember the opening ceremony... but the place was changed... i was to be put into a school for autistic children... generally... problem children... i couldn't just... be reintegrated into the schooling system in Poland... so... i was home-schooled... math... and still... reading books in English... that's how i came across... the Little Prince... all my friends designated my a: traitor's role... we changed our surname... a ****** name in ****** to begin with... even ******* surname in English... if only there was a German SCH in it... much more sense... yes... i was, am... was... an economic migrant... like your Turk in Germany...  but since we're talking... someone from under the old Warsaw Pact... suspicious?! well... no suspicions now! i don't even know whether they're my countrymen... it only takes one Muslim to suppose you're a German that... well... i'll go with that... but hey! now the natives have invited the Afghans to a Scarborough hotel... and it's... going... oh so well! am i still a "racist" if i ****** a black girl and dated a half-indian? ****** a Roma girl... a Thai surprise and... ooh... the love of my life... if i had to put it into 30 minute's worth... ol' raven haired Turkish delight... my ******* yummy... at this point... i'm all shovel & dust... i simply don't care... that's the plan... as i once remarked: the best plan is to... have no plan... just the will to overcome personal griefs. i'm not native enough to care... we were supposed to treat England as a stopover before, hopefully reaching Canada via Argentina... but then that massive crash in Argentina happened... i returned to England... somewhat... refreshed... i'll write in Ing-Leash... i'll speak in Ing-Leash... i'll even... for ****'s sake THINK in Ing-Leash... but in private?! to hell with speaking this language! i'll speak in ****** while teasing myself with some German! hell! i'll even employ Greek! Latin!

it's hard to orientate your unconscious when you
hear stories that...
being born with a Chernobyl "tattoo" (on my right
shoulder blade, later removed)...
plagued with hernia...
and the fact that some nurse tried to **** you while
in hospital... monstrous hybrid...
i wasn't born a monster...
             how i became one...
                            at least intellectually...
the assassination attempt by this nurse
was a failure... my heart was enlarged...
enlarged to the point of, what?
loving everyone... the select few...
now... it's the size of a pebble...
i sometimes feel its gravity sinking my chest
into an implosion...

hence my suspicion of all women...
well... except the prostitutes...
those women i'll love even if my whittle wichard
malfunctions because i'm so drunk &
so limp that i end up asking her
for words for eyes, mouth, freckles, fingers
in her Romanian... later the same girl
is donning pigtails... but no schoolgirl uniform...
of course i'm suspicious:
it's unconscious: from what i've been told...

oh i'm so familiar with this thought-out plot
of "privilege"... for a while in England
i forgot about race...
now... it's glaring in my face... i went along with
the narrative for so much time...
now i'm asking questions a child might ask:
why are these current... "illegal" migrants allowed
to stay... rough up a hotel in... wherever...
while in 1997... i was politely told to leave?
i might be petty now...
but back then...
back then from the few outliers there was no real
concern for race...
then again: the attack from the grammatical
side of things: pronoun me you this that i & the other...
it's hard not to see a second recurrence
of a culmination crux that galvenized
a Charles Manson...
this **** (time) is on repeat! it's absolutely...
petrifying!
it's like the 20th century... at least its later halve
is... what it is! something best avoided but
at the same time: unavoidable!
nothing's current: in that everything is recurrent!
it's not like history is dead...
nothing ever really dies...
and since it doesn't die...
and cannot return to something resembling
a linear setting... it has accumulated itself
in... time as cyclic... ergo non linear...
the 20th century has given us that...
i always thought that space was a cyclic invention...
what with the orbit of planets etc.
but time seemed to be forever... linear!
that's not the case anymore...
prior to the 20th century... sure... time, with hindsight
appears to be linear...
but now?! now?! it's a cyclic mess!

today i was pondering ******* off to Poland
to keep my grandmother company...
become an English teacher
and live in a ******* of my birth...
the metallurgical industry is non-existent...
what will i do? teach more ****** girls and boys
some English to come over here for
the brain-drain and what... surf the great tide
of... the world sub-staining?

double-standasrds... why can't i inherit the merit
of my fellow country-men in the survival
of the United Kingdom...
those airmen who had dog fights with spitfires
across the English sky?
i can't: i wish i could...
i need to make my own mark...
like in conversation with my mother, today...
she can compliment on my i.q.:
but beside my i.q.: i'm "lazy"... i'm narrow...
i'm whatever insult pleases you to entertain...
my mother is like my past girlfriends...
if you want a ******* cushion!?
here! lay your head on this stone! ******.

my father always had the softer approach...
my heart it spent...
it has shrank to the size of a date...
a pebble...
                    i'm listening to:
for ****'s sake... Templar music...
  die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft...
and i see it! i see it... women!
they require so much attention from stone-hearted men!
they need to be slapped-up a bit...
no joke...
      they go off on their trans-racial escapades
and return... what? *****?!
******* gloomy... properly disinhibited...

******* curry... so much science goes into
a curry... i need to have it explained...
bake me a proper baked chicken:
Kurvinder...
oh wait... you can't!
you're going to dice the chicken ******* up...
forgo using the entirety of the corpus
hardly saute the meat... just soak it the gravy...
tell me... lucky you:
with the addition of spices...
curry isn't exactly the highest extent of
the collective human: cuisine...
but the way it's being ate: subsequently sold...
it's the only cuisine left available...
i like a curry... but for, ****'s sake...
i also love Baltic sushi surrounding the mythology
of the herring!

dill! dill! & a creamy sauce with pickled cucumber!
i never attached much concern for
the love of my mother: i don't she ever allowed me
to attach it...
she has even prescribed her final will as being...
lost on the "tablature" of medical students...
she's to become a corpus readied for medical practicses...
i can't bury her... curry her... scatter her ashes..

if my mother doesn't wish me to be a weakling...
my father sees unimportant...
tras-racial sexuality is such a faze
for a lot of these girls...
it's great mingling among Kenyans
******* fellow Kenyans...
no one ever asked... in pop... context...
don't do Orangutans...
resemble...down syndrome specimens?!
oh i get the gorilla, the chimpaneze...
but an orangutan?
the eyes are not... bother somely close
together?
to reiterate... the people selling "us"...
Darwinism are not selling us
the... Wittgensteinian admiration
for the Copernican model of
heliocentricity... oh wow... the first to not...
make it a summit of discovery crediting
Galileo... such an un-western "thing" to do...
*******...
          i'll be siding with the Russians and
the Ancient Greeks from now on...
you... plausible palsy... ******' retards!
no... you had your fun!...
now comes the wound... now comes the salt!

i was illegal once... i learned my lesson...
the day itself was made "illegal" since princess Diana died...
then i became legal after a hiatus...
best be... the happy camper...
             now? Noah! Noah!
you want me... to... reintegrate: inegrate myself
to suit... there was a ******* Warsaw Pact...
the pan-Slavic movement that nourished the birth and kept
upheaval of the Soviets...
the Slavs were to come together...
sure... beside the Serbs who...
well the Ottoman Empire were supposed to do X...
we'll do Z...
but we excluded all the barbers..
Y? oh **** knows... let's call in "NATO"...

it's welcome though: we're the... ahem... little people...
apart from the women.. they know their worth....
they can be snatched up: h'americana ridiculed...
subsequently let loose!
by numbers... i reduce my concern for reality
with tye numbers i'm given:
i'm always like... this ****... best not happen..
in my vicinity... if it does...
i'm out... no... there's no "game".

i'll say what my mother is of afraid of saying:
we're walking abortions...
sorry... but that's what we are...
i believe that there's traction... serious traction for
this opinion in...
the "land of the free"...
i personally feel like a walking abortion..
i ought to feel like... argh... grr...
sort of ownership of manhood..
i substituted ***** envy with beard envy:
but now...
no.... even my mother disqualifies me
as being... "proper" recipient...
of... "reciprocation"...
lesson learned...

  i need to become a dis-hearted...
a... a heartless man.
cool cool...
i can do that...
                         sell me some painkillers will you?
or am i smooth as **** i'm willing to **** someone
on the *****-nilly!

perhaps i never urinated on a homeless man...
i'm pretty sure i spat a wonderus spat...
from 4 stories in a car park...
to get back at the colts who spat at my father
when we visited Chessington
world of "adventure"...

otherwise... i'm so mangled...
i use both the imperial and the metric systems...
e.g.
185°F for an anglaise sauce:
custard... which implies
you don't heat the eggs prior to beating
them with the milk & cream...
sure... gelato is superior in taste to ice-cream...
but gelato isn't equipped for storage...
ice-cream on the other hand is...

165°F for roast chicken: *******....
butterfly... it takes circa under 20 minutes
to roast them perfectly...
i watch Australian Masterchef and hear
of these stories of... recipes passed down...
grandmothers with traditions...
sorry... world war II happened...
herr bite bon-bon came round
as did the soviets... then i left...
oh i do remember my grandmother's cooking...
she managed to roast a chicken to
the point of making the ******* have the texture of...
chalk!

i'm a mangled sort of creature...
i remember all the months of the year in Ing-Leash...
january, febuary, march, april, may, june
july, august, september, october, november... december...
but i can't remember them in my native tongue...
styczeń, luty, marzec, kwiecien, maj...
i forget june... czerwiec... listopad... grudzień...

i'm pretty sure you could usurp some of the diacritical
"constipation"...
akin to Kwiecień....
you could write it so... while decapitating the iota...
i.e. Kwiećιeń: kwit... cień...
a blooming of a shadow...
flower... kwiat... cień. vs. ćιeń: shadow...

the month of the blooming of shadows...
there are hardly any surds in western Slavic...
let me reiterate... there are no surds
like there are surds in Ing-Leash...
gnome whereby... the apostrophe ought to be
better employed!
'nome for gnome... it's not even that
"too" many words in Ing-Leash
sound the same but are spelled differently...

ich bsitzen die nacht!
as much as i abhor the Hindu percusion
of reincarnation:
come again? there are only a fixed number
of original souls in this project...
the rest are...sleeping souls...
let be abuse that a little...
if there's any genuine reincarnation...
to have taken place...
then i am... Konrad van Wallenrode...
hey presto!
there are only  a limited amount of souls
to b shared the reincarnated... humanoids...
the rest are... ******* zombies?!
o.k. fair enough... Hindu glue...
gi ahead... the rest are zombies...
******* curry retards...
          sure... i'm also a reincasrnation...
i'm a reincarnation of Konrad von Wallenrode,
how's that?!

i'm 6ft2 not 189cm
98kg not... however much stones and pebbles
that is...
i live among these IngLeash people
i look at the coming children...
two women walking a child buggie
spot me... sweating all over my stomach...
the one walking the buggie probably has a hubby...
trips up into a poker face...
her fwend... looks at me and says... WOW...
the **** is this current *******: "wow"?!
i own a bicycle i don't own a car...
i wish i owned a horse?!

i like exercise more than ****** because...
i get to exercise more than i get to ******?!
perhaps i ****** in a way that makes me scout
for pornographic actresses that
like to **** it off while looking into the
"Dajjal"...
                i like those.... there's a lyric about them:
i can **** it smile...
democracy: knock knock...

personally... it sounds like a terrible idea
to have children...
as much as i'd love to...
no... not really... not from what's coming from
the pop culture narrative...
personally... i wouldn't want to... my genes...
m'ah...  put through...
the currency of the current *******...
    i don't... want... to... put... my genes...
through... the argumentations of...
IDIOTS!
to reproduce in order to diminish IQ?!
*******! i'm out!
i'm done... forget this *******!
idiots & their ruling class!

i'm happy to leave this earth to the copper skinned
and the African blessed...
look ast me... there will always be people
readily to come...
i have to make an impetus usually associated
with the argument that claims:
it claims! i must! i must!
no... thankfully i don't!
i have to celebrate individualism...
don't i?!

i have lost what Darwinism was originally
supposed to arm me with...
that's what happens...
societies that propaganda Darwinism to
such an extent as it must be sold...
how is Darwinism equivalent to
the Copernican... blah...
      i don't even think it's project vanity
to flee into... as counter... argument...

from the ancient times: **** similis could
be extracted from **** spiens...
"****": the similitude of ape to man
and vice versa was known to ancient Romans!

nacht(s) ist nicht(s):
gott! mit! uns!
         mien ich! ja: mein kommandant...
alles, dies... braucht zu brennen...
ich liebe du...
       aber... aber...
             ich-du... du-du...
            ich wollen
töten wie du ar lieben!
   i love German...
the worst sort of German i speak... write..
the better it resounds...
it always makes me being clued in...
on the offensive against the Russians!
but i also abhor the Anglicans.

i'm a mangled sort of man... i'd love to tease the whole alpha-male / beta-male dichotomy... use some other greek letters (i will use one) like γ-male or σ-male... someone in history once said... i'm the alpha & the omega... well... i'm an omega-male... i go to brothels, i ride a bicycle at night on Sunday when the air is crisp and devoid of wind and traffic pollution: devoid of traffic to begin with... reaching speeds that make my eyes water... my estimate it... 30mph... i don't date: never have, never will... why would i pay for food and hope: "hope" for getting laid, when i can bypass all the ******* with a *******? i don't own a car because i don't want to pay road tax... i don't want to pay for parking... i don't want to pay for insurance or an annual m.o.t. check... obviously i have to fork out on an inner tube from time to time... a new tire... some chain grease... even on the outskirts of London... if i wanted to cycle into London to admire it... hell... it beats walking in and around the sights... even if it's a 15 mile sloth ride's worth past Little Bangladesh of: from Ilford through to Mile End... it's a lot easier not being native of this land... even the foreigners have this knack of citing: born & bred... well... born 'ere... hardly bred... i was living on these shores from 1994... my father came in 1990... he would have been legally allowed to stay in 1997... since... every illegal immigrant living for 7 years... covertly... in England would be allowed to stay... we were deported in 1997... on the day that we heard princess Diana was killed in a car crash... my grandfather was visiting... trauma... the day before we went to a makeshift entertainment park with... oh i remember it well... the name of the ride is a bit murky... but it was like a ferriswheel that started spinning horizontally before slowly changing to a vertical rotation... i was fierce in competition sliding a ball into several holes on an elevation to win a... crimson rottweiler imitation plush toy for my mother... which i did... the next day princess Diana died... the home office came... with the police... an old school version of Batman & Robin was playing on the t.v.... my father made a runner... they caught him... i watched as my parents were hand-cuffed... in my room i was standing looking at the wall when a home office police officer came in and said: earnestly... nice computer... i turned around and gave him... eh... a death stare... when the commotion was over i was sobbing and punching the wall... while my grandfather didn't know what to do... they released my parents after a day's worth of interrogation... we were politely asked to leave the country in a space of a month... or two weeks... so we sorted everything out... gave a newly bought cat to my ****** uncle etc. and left... for a year... the world cup was happening in France (1998) while i watched the final in complete blackout with my great-grandmother, Mary... i even remember the opening ceremony... but the place was changed... i was to be put into a school for autistic children... generally... problem children... i couldn't just... be reintegrated into the schooling system in Poland... so... i was home-schooled... math... and still... reading books in English... that's how i came across... the Little Prince... all my friends designated my a: traitor's role... we changed our surname... a ****** name in ****** to begin with... even ******* surname in English... if only there was a German SCH in it... much more sense... yes... i was, am... was... an economic migrant... like your Turk in Germany...  but since we're talking... someone from under the old Warsaw Pact... suspicious?! well... no suspicions now! i don't even know whether they're my countrymen... it only takes one Muslim to suppose you're a German that... well... i'll go with that... but hey! now the natives have invited the Afghans to a Scarborough hotel... and it's... going... oh so well! am i still a "racist" if i ****** a black girl and dated a half-indian? ****** a Roma girl... a Thai surprise and... ooh... the love of my life... if i had to put it into 30 minute's worth... ol' raven haired Turkish delight... my ******* yummy... at this point... i'm all shovel & dust... i simply don't care... that's the plan... as i once remarked: the best plan is to... have no plan... just the will to overcome personal griefs. i'm not native enough to care... we were supposed to treat England as a stopover before, hopefully reaching Canada via Argentina... but then that massive crash in Argentina happened... i returned to England... somewhat... refreshed... i'll write in Ing-Leash... i'll speak in Ing-Leash... i'll even... for ****'s sake THINK in Ing-Leash... but in private?! to hell with speaking this language! i'll speak in ****** while teasing myself with some German! hell! i'll even employ Greek! Latin!

it's hard to orientate your unconscious when you
hear stories that...
being born with a Chernobyl "tattoo" (on my right
shoulder blade, later removed)...
plagued with hernia...
and the fact that some nurse tried to **** you while
in hospital... monstrous hybrid...
i wasn't born a monster...
             how i became one...
                            at least intellectually...
the assassination attempt by this nurse
was a failure... my heart was enlarged...
enlarged to the point of, what?
loving everyone... the select few...
now... it's the size of a pebble...
i sometimes feel its gravity sinking my chest
into an implosion...

hence my suspicion of all women...
well... except the prostitutes...
those women i'll love even if my whittle wichard
malfunctions because i'm so drunk &
so limp that i end up asking her
for words for eyes, mouth, freckles, fingers
in her Romanian... later the same girl
is donning pigtails... but no schoolgirl uniform...
of course i'm suspicious:
it's unconscious: from what i've been told...

oh i'm so familiar with this thought-out plot
of "privilege"... for a while in England
i forgot about race...
now... it's glaring in my face... i went along with
the narrative for so much time...
now i'm asking questions a child might ask:
why are these current... "illegal" migrants allowed
to stay... rough up a hotel in... wherever...
while in 1997... i was politely told to leave?
i might be petty now...
but back then...
back then from the few outliers there was no real
concern for race...
then again: the attack from the grammatical
side of things: pronoun me you this that i & the other...
it's hard not to see a second recurrence
of a culmination crux that galvenized
a Charles Manson...
this **** (time) is on repeat! it's absolutely...
petrifying!
it's like the 20th century... at least its later halve
is... what it is! something best avoided but
at the same time: unavoidable!
nothing's current: in that everything is recurrent!
it's not like history is dead...
nothing ever really dies...
and since it doesn't die...
and cannot return to something resembling
a linear setting... it has accumulated itself
in... time as cyclic... ergo non linear...
the 20th century has given us that...
i always thought that space was a cyclic invention...
what with the orbit of planets etc.
but time seemed to be forever... linear!
that's not the case anymore...
prior to the 20th century... sure... time, with hindsight
appears to be linear...
but now?! now?! it's a cyclic mess!

today i was pondering ******* off to Poland
to keep my grandmother company...
become an English teacher
and live in a ******* of my birth...
the metallurgical industry is non-existent...
what will i do? teach more ****** girls and boys
some English to come over here for
the brain-drain and what... surf the great tide
of... the world sub-staining?

double-standasrds... why can't i inherit the merit
of my fellow country-men in the survival
of the United Kingdom...
those airmen who had dog fights with spitfires
across the English sky?
i can't: i wish i could...
i need to make my own mark...
like in conversation with my mother, today...
she can compliment on my i.q.:
but beside my i.q.: i'm "lazy"... i'm narrow...
i'm whatever insult pleases you to entertain...
my mother is like my past girlfriends...
if you want a ******* cushion!?
here! lay your head on this stone! ******.

my father always had the softer approach...
my heart it spent...
it has shrank to the size of a date...
a pebble...
                    i'm listening to:
for ****'s sake... Templar music...
  die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft...
and i see it! i see it... women!
they require so much attention from stone-hearted men!
they need to be slapped-up a bit...
no joke...
      they go off on their trans-racial escapades
and return... what? *****?!
******* gloomy... properly disinhibited...

******* curry... so much science goes into
a curry... i need to have it explained...
bake me a proper baked chicken:
Kurvinder...
oh wait... you can't!
you're going to dice the chicken ******* up...
forgo using the entirety of the corpus
hardly saute the meat... just soak it the gravy...
tell me... lucky you:
with the addition of spices...
curry isn't exactly the highest extent of
the collective human: cuisine...
but the way it's being ate: subsequently sold...
it's the only cuisine left available...
i like a curry... but for, ****'s sake...
i also love Baltic sushi surrounding the mythology
of the herring!

dill! dill! & a creamy sauce with pickled cucumber!
i never attached much concern for
the love of my mother: i don't she ever allowed me
to attach it...
she has even prescribed her final will as being...
lost on the "tablature" of medical students...
she's to become a corpus readied for medical practicses...
i can't bury her... curry her... scatter her ashes..

if my mother doesn't wish me to be a weakling...
my father sees unimportant...
tras-racial sexuality is such a faze
for a lot of these girls...
it's great mingling among Kenyans
******* fellow Kenyans...
no one ever asked... in pop... context...
don't do Orangutans...
resemble...down syndrome specimens?!
oh i get the gorilla, the chimpaneze...
but an orangutan?
the eyes are not... bother somely close
together?
to reiterate... the people selling "us"...
Darwinism are not selling us
the... Wittgensteinian admiration
for the Copernican model of
heliocentricity... oh wow... the first to not...
make it a summit of discovery crediting
Galileo... such an un-western "thing" to do...
*******...
          i'll be siding with the Russians and
the Ancient Greeks from now on...
you... plausible palsy... ******' retards!
no... you had your fun!...
now comes the wound... now comes the salt!

i was illegal once... i learned my lesson...
the day itself was made "illegal" since princess Diana died...
then i became legal after a hiatus...
best be... the happy camper...
             now? Noah! Noah!
you want me... to... reintegrate: inegrate myself
to suit... there was a ******* Warsaw Pact...
the pan-Slavic movement that nourished the birth and kept
upheaval of the Soviets...
the Slavs were to come together...
sure... beside the Serbs who...
well the Ottoman Empire were supposed to do X...
we'll do Z...
but we excluded all the barbers..
Y? oh **** knows... let's call in "NATO"...

it's welcome though: we're the... ahem... little people...
apart from the women.. they know their worth....
they can be snatched up: h'americana ridiculed...
subsequently let loose!
by numbers... i reduce my concern for reality
with tye numbers i'm given:
i'm always like... this ****... best not happen..
in my vicinity... if it does...
i'm out... no... there's no "game".

i'll say what my mother is of afraid of saying:
we're walking abortions...
sorry... but that's what we are...
i believe that there's traction... serious traction for
this opinion in...
the "land of the free"...
i personally feel like a walking abortion..
i ought to feel like... argh... grr...
sort of ownership of manhood..
i substituted ***** envy with beard envy:
but now...
no.... even my mother disqualifies me
as being... "proper" recipient...
of... "reciprocation"...
lesson learned...

  i need to become a dis-hearted...
a... a heartless man.
cool cool...
i can do that...
                         sell me some painkillers will you?
or are smooth as **** i'm willing to **** someone
on the *****-nilly!

185°F anglaise
165°F roast chicken: *******....
butterfly

styczen

january

6ft2 not 189cm
98kg not ...

I had expected to be woken
By canons and church bells
And brass bands and people
Lining the streets
Waving the Union Jack and climbing
On each others shoulders
To get a better view
Of the victorious homecoming troops
And shouting 'Let me take your rifle son,
You won't be needing that anymore'.
But instead a kind of eerie silence pervades -
A bit like any other Bank Holiday really.

So, bemused I wander into town
Along with the other stragglers
Solitary shell shocked forlorn figures,
Some wearing medals
Who like me had somehow become left behind
And missed the best of the fighting.
Nor do the decorations inspire patriotic fervour,
Half a mile of bunting
And a scattering of flags
Hanging listlessly in the morning drizzle,
And the odd poster advertising fireworks tonight
All live ammunition having been descretely confiscated.

In one shop as if to draw attention
Away from their opening
There is a school project, a mock up
Of the Blitz
While others, not wishing to prosper from war
Have remained closed.
A handful of old soldiers are huddled
Around the memorial, in muted thanksgiving.
They place wreaths, salute and hug each other
And I feel if only I could hear what they were saying
Then I would really know.

But on TV celebrations are gathering pace.
Numerous authentic black and white films
And to stirring renditions of the Dam Busters
A parade for those who knew victims and survivors
Who wipe away tears and stare into no man's land,
And later beaming presenters will reunite
Sons and daughters of airmen missing
And presumed dead seventy five years ago
With their families, who in turn
Will be introduced to the grandchildren of their captors
Who have become best of friends
And who now regularly go fishing together.