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Julian Sep 2020
I famigerate without taciturn timidity the straits of a straightened jury-rig of nesiote narrowbacks harping the accordion zest and zeal of the plenilune consuetude of a scrivello infamy sprung into the rows of rip-tide acclaim hamstrung by the decline in fastidious upkeep of the timberlask vesicles that avoid the phenakism of prismatic reformation fundamental to transmogrified simpers of dismal saturnine darkness encroaching on the parallax of realms within the dominion of the Almighty for the omniety of the usucaption of the fruitful prune in the priggish afterglow of a noontide eclipse bereaved of whispering retreat in the hallowed wasms of stiltanimity becoming an entreaty to ecumenical barbs of propriety selected without intimacy to folksy bibliopolists but rugged in sterling tribute to the true vine of the appointed ways of sacerdotal triage among a roughshod vanity of a derelict world marveling at otiose rejoinder rather than true spasms of tragedy flickering in the recessive alleles of a careworn culture. The travesty of Beirut is the bromide of current leapfrogs of sentinel lust and malapert destruction forming an ironclad camaraderie with chocolate-box langlauf disasters wed uxoriously to the penury of the brackish version of the catadromous bailiwick of despotic nescience pregnant with sophrosyne redemption at the cusp of a plaid perfunctory quip of quisling intimations of the sketchy provenance of humdingers of comestion lurking in the plodding prowl of a ribald wiseacre of a beckoned billow of trinkochre welded into a conscientious blarney that awaits the popinjays that sculpt brittle redshort fictions into awakened carapaces of a limacine reduction of impoverished fulmination into the neatly sworn footprints of a geotaxis shuddering with magnetism only in spectacle without the overhailing zeal of vintners who specialize in curtailed wine drawn from Caiaphas and soaked with the muddy turgid Siloam as avenues toward the repentance of asunder becoming marginalized as a whimper of taciturn choleric war receding not even into an audible delope as the masterful chryselephantine assault of cryptic auditions in the theater of effete refuge sink into the pelagic oblivion of a remarkable blister festering into inconsequence as the rebarbative emoluments to tattered travesty hearken a battle-cry yet emanated in the reprehensible bulwark of the gerendum of a poised plastered humility aggrieved with such friction turgid on rollicking magpiety that even the larceny of brutish renegades of triumph sink beneath the brevity of accident rather than the fortitude of globalized turpitude weakened by the improper demarche of fuliginous homeless depredation of innocent bystanders flocking to the harvest of war found in insight rather than the perfunctory bromidrosis of the macroscian enmity of hidden maleficence spawning a credenda that is spayed on arrival in the faineant zoolatry of a spelunkers’ madcap dash to flex the filigrees of turmoil in resentment of the amicable truces of a God who never tempts and a lurking lie that never itches for trigger-happy hapless rebukes because the skittish skirmish of futilitarian repose is a scoundrel of the profligacy of errant weakness blinkered by the humdrum din of deafening semaphores of provocative thornbush on the threshing floor of cowardly imposture president of all affairs of spirit and all renegades of caitiff megalography of forgotten oblivion despite the curglaff of vindictive and never vindicated assaults on the integrity of the birthright of Lebanon to wager a presumptive gamble of trifling retribution for the alacrity of suspicions eloping with forbidden mistresses in the humdingers of flackey rather than the troudasque harbinger of a lunacy impugned by a restive triumphant fallow time seasonable for a litany of pretenses demassified for a liturgy of seances with eldritch commiseration in the saw-toothed serration of selachostomous bravado wielded by likely or unlikely culprits of ravenous ruin shepherded by the guilty cardinal sins of the complicity of explosive vanity marauding on the ruins of a fortress debased by pettifoggery of internal excuse rather than the wrath of provocative ire in the irksome cauterized wounds of the inured to deliver spectacular reticence despite such grievous diacope. Evil gilderoys of maleficence carve the sapwood of the periphery to aimless subversions miscarried by the modern atrocity of glamour memorialized as a sound-byte underminnow of a roaring rhombos rip tide as stocks wavy at the curvature of edgy demarche despoil the denuded wasteland of cultural despondency a wagtail to the impudence of famigerated affronts that deserve a sterling recompense wielded by the onerous and operose burdens of a prone decubitus of aboriginal bread seeded from Heavenly realms dissipating into the roars of blinded conflagration too meek to even exist on the ramshackle hillside of a barnstorm of aggression powerless to encapsulate the nexility of unspoken allegiance to destruction rather than the halidom of consecrated marriages balking at the caulked provisions of a slugabed monolith of craven capers on the recesses of abeyance in the interregnum of a time where famous people communicate with me. How can such a charismatic bravado of lurking presidency stoop to the denizens of usufruct in licentious latitudes on the outskirts of consideration even pretend anymore that the vacuum of effluvium (Gal 6:7) can be mocked and milked into the row of centuries blistering through the calenture of apprisal and heaved awakening as the zephyrs of the Occident meet temporal juncture with the coenesthesia of a hibernating trumpery formed by the turnverein of listless lethargy billowing through fumiducts of siphoned lavaderos of hypogeiody that the underground spasms of cacophony could marvel at the historic emergence of a magnate with the most powerful magnetism of God shepherding the true flock John 10:27 because he is willing to be the good shepherd and potentially die for his sheep John 10:11. Remember, whenever you hear a Queer Studies Radical Feminist bloviate on emasculated sardanapalian posture John 8:44 and even though personified as a masculine titan of bulwarks of immense otiose wilted inkburch shielding the world from true meaning, the maskirovka of the Devil is present in the dark trespasses of personal abandon among the wilderness of many marsupial jackals of martles wagtails to an invictive proclamation of invulnerable sappy sopanaceous filibusters against hefty sinew forged the bony fragments of the charnels lost to brief epitaphs never mourned in threnodies worthy of remembrance that the departed died with us and live again through us whether in Heaven as participant or on Earth as an acting battalion of the skullduggery of the mystique of shimmers of God acting on Man’s behalf 1 Col 1:15-16. That the firstborn of all creation obtains supremacy through the finalisms that I seek as the captain of trailblazing untrammeled roads we are reminded of the narrow and wide gates expanded by the explosion of thought that trespasses into the hidebound ratchet of a reasonable bleat becoming a harsh outcry of justice for Lebanon that they feel so powerless in implosion what could aggrieve potentate civilizations to the precipice of global maleficence in destruction. Swarming for alveolate hominid hominism as an outgrowth of alienation by design polarized spectral dangles at jaundice flamestun by the ordeal of oppositive barnacles to the chryselephantine habituation of a masked menace of Procrustean authority to muzzle the free license of armamentariums of a latent man keen to the kenspeckel visibilia that we might have punctuation in the poised primiparas of a hearkened unprecedented in modern history that the traipse of lapse is no longer the tenure of mindless calculation of authoritarian gabble sentries of a mobilized fleet of embodied human ignorance but a foisted sprite of whangams of apothegm that deserve in their gnomic respite from the phenakisms of a philogeant kumbaya assertive in its treony of radical compassion for those who dwell in tentpoles of revelry bound not to the covenant that sent us into light and sparkling in hidden obsolescence that the fulgurant words of Mount Horeb (Sinai) are both immaculate and without trace of sin because Acts 17:30 declares a powerful truth lost to the twinges of time that issued peremptory governance of my theology but through remission I admit the grievances of septiferous blockades of ponderous plodding nescience haunting the spectral aubades of paeans to a high-flown sun darting through galactic space apace of the velivolant sails of divine wind that come in the spree of recompense authored by the vines to which all roots belong rhizogenic and immutable because the demarches of time forget the marches against the cauterized grime of new-world suspicions of aleatory fickle gubernatorial proclamations that issue reverb more than sprinkle flanged atrocity in the sight of the holy ramparts of an active double-edged God who reminds us of our many witnesses but provides not a single latchkey of escapism resident to many hapless homes of the drunken sing-song rhapsody nullifying the psychotaxis of the motatory miserly Draconian charades of Leviathan grasping the tridents of warp-speed revisionism in a benighted world overrun by mandarist fictions that fumigate a pasteurized control of cultural malcontent in situations of dearth infested by the concentration camps of China that remain unheralded in brumal and brutish indoctrination spared from worldwide outrage by the tribunes that are complicit more in malfeasance than they are celebrated for the herald of heinous bletcherous crimes of abecedarian abligurition anointed in waste rather than refined like unquenched slakes of eternal water so that no man can thirst hungry for the daily bread without returning to the providence of God awakened. Recalcitrant by the impudent quislings of repugnasket flarmeys of advenient flummoxed besieged clairvoyance I bask and beaze on the light that never fades because of the brackish whisk of a barnstorm of allegiance that is contumely to a bromide society listless in inferiority of intellect to my former streaks beyond jejune reiteration of the Jehu mentality against the canine fate of Jezebel and her faltered ministry of ewnastique waged as battalion gore of a trifling musket of an aboriginal swim through the oceanic gaze of peerless eternity squirming because of flagging resolution among the spandrels of incommunicable largesse lolloped extravagantly not just for the spoils of hyped pedigree but also a chamade to Heaven to enlist the purblind vestiges of a crambazzled Earth rejuvenated in adolescent esprit rather than callow eclat against the outrecuidance of whimpered miserly conscientiousness that exists in a shorter frame of reference than the provident dashes through a furlough of time and ancestry to cobble together a lapidary bristling excoriation of the tumescent squabbles of mystique brave enough to rarefy the humid pasteurization of a mannequin kenspeckel still-frame jilt of jostled infamy brusque in its curt envies borne of still-born promenades of a whasper between the youthful ligony and the intrepid soul of a collective warrior debased by the adscititious participant to elegant effronteries of the newfangled intellectual vogue that is the grombang of the tralleyripped hamshackle of ostentation meeting mirrored paralysis in sheepish ewnastique creations meddlesome in their ironic frizz of recursion as I lounge on the habits of creation by intelligent lurches of design that appointed the demarcations of all creatures and the mysterious bridge between the missing links that remain elusive to the flombricks of the misery of epigenetic rhizogenic imparlance of desuetude cringing at foresight littered with the disaster of ravished hindsight blushing at the limpid degeneration of the vapid varnish of benighted ligony rather than heroic strides of stoic-epicurean compromise in the apolaustic pursuit of the one eternal God present in rebellion but never the temptress of mendacity and mendaciloquence because the tug I have on speed is ratifying a cauterized casualty in the spumid betrothed wicked snuffs of extinguished furor for a time beyond barnstormed racloir rugged origination and faulty phenogenesis that escorts mythos into actionable litanies of the awakened breed scoffing at the inkburch of “Electrolytes”-wernaggle that besets the queer fascinations of a warped generation. The pytherian swank of artrench embodied in the recocted rendevation of hypetrophy in hubris swaddled by the reductive dranger polluting the realm of compliant complicant complaints of the ashowel of albatross astroud in the hibernaculum of langlauf rather than the ultramontane fiduciary tether to the estrockentch rather than the laureates of plevisable courage found in truest shades of vinsky not the subhastation of a gaslighted galvanization of purebred classy swivels of opportunism nor the ravenous incubus appetite for usufruct in subversion belongs to the behest of an insular nesiote flexing the flux of subversion as the candid posies of saccharine immodesty become relegated figments of the everlasting age of promised propriety rather than rigid stultimathy of hackencrude virtues of virtuosos that marvel at troudasque wonders occluded by the girlcott of Team Biden and his militarized soldiers of desiccation of trumpery and the faucets unbounded by swanky concealed epithets of regaled rentgourge by a hapless objection of the runic destruction of apothecary leniency becoming of the betokened emblazonry of scrimshank in every perfuncturation but embodiment of character shouldered by every chasm of power erected in demolition of the warped egintoch radicalism of the submerged wernaggles of the hopeless minority swimming with autodimplage few have to bear but the truest flock of God heeds my voice and has the sapience to spare themselves of contumely and invective to hearsay of invictive triumph beyond radioglare swirk to renege the musical providence of the chamades to the asterongue I often take for granted by immunifacient degrees of the foretold encroaching upon the crux of a pivotal and pivoted destiny not distant from cordial providence. The sweedle of epigones for the risctender of obligation to subvert the coryphaeus with the rigmarole of gentincture borrowed from the Gates’ formulaic effleck of perverse warbles of collectivized contrition for abetted cultural pederasty limpid in its achieved objective of the crudenzy borrowed from a lacking impediment to arentrum belonging to the knowledgeable happenstance of the glorified dengonin is a denostram that forestalls the agelasts behind porsters of culture rather than legitimate mainlined contamination of wellsprings of fliction of paranoiac enthusiasm might swim in kinkativy blinkered blind piebald girouettism but never dauntless in sematic entrenchment of robust dilettantism as the swaddled corrugation of time into centripetal ****** against centrifugal modernism that alienates propriety while estranging by vacuous vacuums the outspoken progeny of the surviving age beyond the Jay and Silent Bob travesty that manifests as a glower of menacing Bushian invention to tarnish with ****** mythos the drapes of a defenestrated realism of the flinkers of sheepish indignation against many drakstings of intonorous sclerotic mandibles of crackjaw chockablock annihilation of core precepts and institutions indelible from the face of a quixotic entreaty of a ragged intrusion of ageotropic monoideism above the secular-clerical fidelity of honest witness borne of triumph and tribulation festooning the nativist hyperbole into a useless effigy of mountebank imposture silly in precision and purblind to gallantry. Yet I must kisswonk rather than truckle under such ponderous pretense because of a sertivine certainty in the thickets of prudence rather than the tomfoolery of humgruffin impudence scaffolds me to a post-modern ****** that shanks through prisons of guilt and burrows an interrogation of reality supreme over all complaint that the virtuosity of the Gifted (the elect flock that comprehends my volcanic diatribes against mandarism and stomachs them without sardonic pastorauling insults of passerby vicissitude) will spare many nations of awakened perjury against human instinct in the fitness of nations to denigrate the populist squalor of lurid and livid ewnastique wernaggles of the listless buttress against my formal modesty encouraged in all affairs even in aggrieved humility belonging to intimidation rather than spawned jostles through the rumpus of shunamitism that might rankle a later age.  Yentrified morality is a personal flapdoon against the promiscuous pederasty of freewheeling ophelimity and the lurking narquiddity of the traindeque of donnist hedonism to hijack my psychedelic tolerance into an unwarranted and inadvisable sanction into the netherworld of the frinterans of cultural modality that curdact religion into a cosmetic cosmogony rather than a soldiered infamy becoming a beacon on a towering hill growing in solidarity with the pleonasm of existence itself which surpasses crude formulas that already abide by the riches of decorum too much to be admired as trigger-happy fools run the asylum of domesticated irony and the librettos to downfall rather than the wassails of “The Man” becoming more masculine in featured charisma rather than defiled against Leviticus among others who preach belonging to nuclear creed without fission but for true rapprochement to the fusion of the treony with legitimate gripes of unsung complaint among the masculine minority. The traindeque of a baseline complaint aggrieved by the kilmarge carapace of stiltanimity for the hackencrude resentment of the inkburch of illiteracy is a profligate degeneracy lurid in hyped enmity that the envied entreaty becomes the despotic shadow masquerading in shadows blossoming into the full wisdom of the mature sophrosyne heart eager to pour out blessings upon a conservation of recycled epitaphs becoming hearsay in a rebarbative convolution of redacted rigmarole incendiary to whittled henpecks of political engineering but never vapid in their flagging insistence upon an ecumenical toleration of the brooks of modernity and compromise upon which much felicity is aggrandized and permuted against the spoilsport frinterans who encage a dodgy moralism in wilted etiolated jaunty pedigree that espouses the maudlin grievous and ghastly ghouls and sprites that haunt the fictional hobgoblins of the Potemkin Village that finds usury convenient and perjury even more facile for the glib facetious engineers of modalities of hatred unsung by the ribald witwanton “I got a Solution...You’re a ****…South Carolina What’s Up” crowd that never marvels at ingenuity or rarely attempts it in the summit of the climacteric jaundice of hidebound whemmles of ridicule sparring against spartan flagitious wiseacres of genocide of ideation for the revelry of armed missives denatured by raw promotion of the questionable ethics of a flavork of needed slakes of unquenchable desire swarming us with daily temptresses not of wayward women but the disarmed pretense of a lapidary rejoinder to a long expatiation or harangue against hackencrude curdles of rowboat injustice masquerading as sentinel savory destruction of the towering edifice of proclamation. There is great menace in the casuistry of sophist philogeant philocubists dicey with destiny for mincemeat puppetry against sciamachy for the gallionic rise of gammadions in the craven lore of baseline pasquinade rallied to the insuperable causes of tribal shibboleth anointed by secular totemisms of fracture and fricative hisses of lineage that amount to pleonasms of brassage rather than mystagogical mystique of the prestige of human fraternity that shatters paradigms of creed and invites an honest vestige of Noble Savages to roam the Earth yet again unencumbered by lugubrious welters of misnomer and malapropism wagered by artifices of guileless supremacy that is cursory prima facie neglect of even the sororal duties not of sophomoric glib facetious cowardice of backbited backlash of venom militarized for the desuetude of entertained visagists sculpting *****-nilly their version or verdict of decisive apartheid when we should all rally behind the united frontier of the chosen flock in the chosen generation to truckle beneath the pews not of ignorance aggravated by the polluted kilmarge egintoch puritan barbs against publicity choices I now regret (as an emolument to an incredibly euphoric track with a poor miserly message to the enchanted flock inoculated from such diversions) because alighted upon the quenched thirst of salvation I will be judged more harshly as a teacher James 3:1 than the rest of my flock but gifted with the gratuitous salvation carved from the chiselers of ribald infamy capering around with dacoitage and ladronism of the bomans of unsuspecting quixotic caprice I must reckon with the burden of ghoulish shadows on the spectral imprint of my eternal soul relishing in vicarious splendor yet bereaved of quintessential love 1 Cor 13:4 that is necessary for the nuclear conclamation of vibrant hues of resplendent and refulgent providence necessary not from a dynastic perspective but from an aimed providence that alerts dynamism rather than chides with mimes of useless schadenfreude carved from the prestidigitation of the wicked condemned in Galatians 6:7 for the mockers of sanctanimity accorded upon me as gratuity that no man can boast my elite ears and my astute wonderworks of imagination qualified me for prophecy and among the most mesmerizing prophecies registered to fulfillment that the world has ever yet witnessed because the watershed isn’t a bridgewater for the chavish of ignoramus hatred congealed into thrombosis but the narrowed gate enlarges to encompass the swath of man amenable to the flocks that escort me into permanence rather than regale the tridents of a hedonism that elected me clairvoyant at a cost of immaculate splendor registered to the holy clergy of the Sacred Catholic Church and the broader Ecumenical Endeavor that tries to be a seamstress and bridge elemental divides inherent to divided approaches to liturgy which flex their strengths in times of robust fortitude rather than become a subhastation to the vestiges of the pilgrimage to false tabernacles erected by people cozened into charlatan endeavors by the pernicious and persnickety whiplash of Least Common Denominator subversion of widely heralded sentience and sapience enriching the lot of human ambition rather than stoking useless conflagrations of refracturism accorded to the swallock of primposition of the hackneyed hackencrude that swivels with the odious ornery pretense of overtures not to apertures and lychgates of the true abiding Heaven felt on Earth by many Christians whether in sobriety or not without the evil maleficence of a misguided donnism of narquiddity for the grambazzles of aged recklessness aborning on vacant responsibility that is rickety in its magnanimity of absolution because of the ulterior chase for bottom-line top-dollar oligochrome foisted by the cartels that blind true spiritual insight from ever reaching the magnitude of ambition required to shape mountains of revolution among the tertiary squabbles of a conversant Earth open to the troudasque gallop into yield and cloveryield for repcrevel reforms the paludism of the swamp remains skittish about conforming to because objectivism is a renegade of perspicuous light blinkering in hubris and gourmandizing the hinderbaggle of cosmetic pollutions aggravated by the plevisable articles of envy and TLDR politics to “Electrolyte” logic that is a sad recursive wernaggle of the useless buffoonery of humgruffins of tatterdemalion spate rollicking in the magpiety of a timid consentient faltering myth of unanimity among the beleaguered rainbows of many lugubrious tears showering bickering blasphemy upon the mockery of God for the pleasantry of self-aware sheepish resignation that professes only that any form of meritocracy is existentially unfounded only because the beehive elected its progeny the scepter of the ironclad kingdom that wages war against idolatry and serenades heaven with luxury simultaneously. We are all shepherds of providence and there is power enough in collective prayer that we don’t fiddle around with bodewash in mistaken identity but riddle the persnickety blemish of the fastidious critiques of biting sarcasm as a tantamount blasphemy and a criminal repartee of sardonic cloys of inanity foisted above truth. The peevish breedbates who scour my evidentiary pillar of chiseled vertebrae of unbroken bones of solidarity with oikonisus will be sorely disappointed in their truthful audits of my true perception because in every single case it exonerates me from the pulpit of menacing idiots who scrawl random gabble in attempts to sound smart while reeking of iniquity wrought by the gavels of predevoted inferiority of complexion and attitude that gravitates them to an insensate benumbed transmogrified bailiwick of an appalling atrocity of mythomaniacal myths spurned by consensus among those who prize my grandeur above the superstitions of the illiteracy of the rancid rankle of otiose stupidity writhing its own sheepish envy of arbitrary dislike motivated by feminist aggressors waging warfare on turf I already conquered by swaying the intelligentsia to beckon my cause rather than pillory me on a false scaffold of frinteran abuses of the nyejays of bernacle that junediggle in the taradiddle of the nanciful excoriation of my leaden corpse weighed down by the witchcraft of connivance trayning its own delicate myths while avoiding scrutiny for appalling contumely that deserves an audience more suited for fracklings of treony belonging to the trinkochre of the rising alienation and suicides among perverted gay indoctrination that is a scourge on the planet because it willfully denies with its portentous hibbles the regaled wisdom of the culminated age against renegades of apostasy and for the behemoths of true monumental change that sizzles in savory circles among the vanguard only to alarm the Status Quo hijack of my entire endeavors as a covert crusade to use wrecking-ball fashion tactics to cosmetically incisively and insidiously perform a harprick of surgery upon a blameless countenance only for being a thorn to wragatek wragapole slavery which wages war against universal salvation because it gripes with inkburch and circular pleonasms about the most obvious glaring lies and feasts upon the serrated edge of the capers of hatred that frolic in meadows too skittish to enter the barbarian fortress of my forested residence robust in fortitude and glowering with a menacing contempt for runaround psychobabble that obganiates the obelisk of the moribund crusade to make normative ethics effeminate and to enthrone inviolable women’s speech as supreme to any male objections like the Cristiano Ronaldo accuser that came forth 8 months after #MeToo one of the most dishonest campaigns in modern history enthroned by Hollywood elites in gammerstang insurrection against pay-gap ethics done manipulatively with the sapwood of mendaciloquence like Blasey Ford whose physiognomy reeked of maudlin pretense that was so ornery in how obvious of a maleficence the intrepid Abortion Agenda has over the minds of selfish women who prefer ecbolic second-term abortions to the servile gripes of primiparas building new life rather than tearing down the scaffolds of new generations. Hominism deserves its rise because-in increasing numbers-men are derelicted by society and coerced into vapid tallespin enslavement that ridicules itself with the perjury of soul to the soulless vanity of recursive cycles of benumbed narquiddity found in “****** Hero” among other atrocities littering the human fascination with the hinderbaggle of our polluted age verging on totemic blistering hegemony of a few rotten apples corrupting the vagrant ingenuity of the forgotten champion who ushered in a new era of candor in the attempted interregnum of the United States government because I Am Hollywood got the name correct considering how many memorials there are to me in the movie industry. The junediggles of sc-ha-den-freud-e which is as deliberate of a German pun as JUDEn JuDEN which shows the German language is as farsighted as you can get and why many of my neologisms have a German tinge to them. German is an elegant language with botched syntax but a peerless repertoire of vocabulary and even though I love French, the Germans are smart because their language is smart not just because of petty arguments of pedigree which are specious at best. Being dontolesque with  the zenkidu of rengall nauclatic mythos is an artful degree which accords nominal prestige to licentiates while excorifying the obvious metaphors of sunblind logic that scours the scorched Earth of internet diatribes of sophistry and dethrones the Marcie Biancos of the world “Heterosexuality is officially OVER...K Bye” with her 145 IQ and a Stanford Degree in Queer Studies (A professed atheist by her own Twitter admission) with the warped logic to equate a heterosexual relationship for a woman as ******* to patriarchy. For someone that well-studied in literature she sure is a dumb-*** and I will demolish the syntagma of those that root against me for Status Quo preservation in the official interregnum of Saturdays during the Trump Presidency. We need an official referendum on the ideas of termagant illogical anti-egalitarian poison that derives from a deracinated worldview that doesn’t contextualize how powerful language is at shaping thought because if the entire world were Anglophonic every single country on Earth virtually would see immediate dividends in terms of intellectual creativity and limber with concepts and percepts because it is no accident the most successful empire in History the United Kingdom, was favored because of its shibboleths of Shakespearean creativity draped with flairs of the irreverent while gilded by God to be a majestic commonwealth. England and France monopolized a huge majority of history by no accident because although English might be a slightly keener language the French culture of salons of freewheeling intellectual enlightenment gilded the 17th and 18th centuries into absolution despite the Panglossian epithets of Voltaire who was ironically dissuaded from religion because of the All Saints Day 1755 Lisbon Earthquake and Tsunami. We need to be vigilant against encroachments of perceived shibboleths and more keen on an affirmative meritocracy that favors the poor and blesses the meek in their poverty and inspire ambition among them to join the coteries of refinement in thought sometimes harder to achieve with crackjaw lollops in pleonasmic languages that fail to articulate with nexility or forceful wit the true abstractions that govern the pataphysics of the unknown. Language is so decisive over human thought that it is incumbent upon every language to refine its vocabulary to trayne compendious verbiage and trim the hedges of global reform to invite the curiosity of the age to favor all creeds and languages of Abraham and the diverse progeny of a variegated panoply of majestic feats common to all parlance and capacity beyond just the Anglophonic snare because the world needs not a chicanery of blustering churlish buffoonery but an Almighty respect for the consanguinity of all to God’s blessed creation that he inseminated by his deliberate hands to enrich the world with diversity rather than cleave the world with piecemeal skeumorphs of radical propaganda that opposes the modern and post-modern egalitarian streak. One wrong must be corrected, however, the underrepresentation of Hispanics in the media and in film because this grave error is much more pervasive than the ******* LGBT inclusion narrative because these days the lollygags of fashionista odalisques with Obelisks to Baal get more say over the common decorum than the marginalized bronteum of the  rich and vibrant Latino culture which is squelched by the poverty of media and Hollywood representation. Synectics showcases how a henpecked aim at the synaesthesis of culture congregated around our Almighty Father blessed among the nations who adhere to the progeny of Abraham can be more blessed when working together rather than tribal with nepotism and aristocratic in sustained affronts to the elevation of affirmative meritocracy to the forefront of discussion rather than the froward backlash of benumbed narquiddity because the synallagamatic nature of complexity needs to be devolved with industrious ambition to all cultures and the savory flair of the vogue needs not merely a wednongue fascination with an eventual terminus of crudenzy but a sustained intellectual reformation on all fronts to standardize the English language through Hollywood and the Music Industry so that the dragnets of appeal etch a permanent trace into the engraved souls of the true flock John 10:27 are consecrated in divine purpose to reverse the Babylonian Diaspora of confused and conflated purpose that stunts the raltention of humane course and the proper pataphysical syncrisis of an evolved mundane temperament that transcends the circular traps of circumlocution common to the milquetoast industrial titans who winsomely charm with toady gestures the elitism of a moribund philosophy of intellectual thought delegation to elevate the common rhetoric to reach new pinnacles in both tribune and political gamesmanship because higher standards are required even when they surpass some common understanding so that every ambition becomes a conclave for the goal of human unity solidified by the truth of the kerygma and proclaimed to all creation as the culminated synclastic reformation of the idea of indulgence and the propriety of regaled moderation that appeases the common decorum with a shared vested interest in Latin America especially which is besieged by the cultural tenets of obrogated specialization and denigrated by the common myths of warped phenogenesis which should be debunked as a wasm of hypocrisy limited because its callous tentacles lack the charismatic fulgurant equipment of future generations to bear the operose burdens of a quintessential time of harmony united by the hymns for God by God to appease the sentries in Heaven and the celestial realms that exist for our merriment more than our detriment. The sprauncy have the  frikmag to recognize the spuria of apocryphal heresies that encourage kinship above matriotism and shared fortitude for intellectual valor rather than “*** talk TLDR” hashtags abounding on the turf of the insensate wernaggle of clueless charlatans wiggling through life not because they were borne into slavery but because they choose to be Helicopter Parents of “Baby Shark” rather than token mantelpieces of enlivened culture shimmering with radiation of Gods glory as cemented in Colossians 1:15-16 because the firstborn of all creation lives in some form in the ligature of Christ 1 Cor 12:12 because there are so many talents that exist in our variegated world that the mastery of expertise in dominions of conversant fluency will abet the variegated crops of a draped humanity corrugated on its own ironies for the delicate sizzle of beatific felicity multiplying itself in centupled design over centuries to overcome hinderbaggle while realizing the fictions of some drawflark. The strigine world concedes to this upstart rooster maybe considered a parvenu of dearth but luxuriant in riches boundless to all that draw near to the kerygma of Christ and feast on his daily bread found throughout liturgy because we should listen to people like Cardinal Timothy Dolan who is exceptionally astute (perhaps an understatement) to guide us on a regenerative rather than degenerative pathway towards universal attempts at salvation that broach a new decorum bridged by aliens to select chosen emissaries to bridle the fissions of repartee reserved for the forlorn that balk at ambition rather than relish a new era of seditious determination against the determinist fallacy and for the mental health of those coping with autodimplage and sheepish regrets and persnickety articles of remorse because all the world deserves our consolation and desperate attention rather than the trumpery of the circus masquerade of marauding agitprop which congeals into thrombosis of toxicity as the vast majority of Democrats refuse to even hear Trump speak when he is discussing discursive solutions to enigmatic quagmires,for, if more people listened to Trump they would be disabused by the specious claims of his misogyny and white allegiances because his candor is brilliant and despite the prominent advocacy of Biden who has considerable prestige in my memory, we deserve a bipartisan syncretism that unites the world and unifies the country away from the swerve of salacious mythos and towards a rambunctious magpiety of solidarity against the secular humanism of a defunct piety to Marxist feminism which is a crudenzy among the awakened men around the world increasingly alienated by the hackencrude of wednongue illiteracy even trumpeted by the vanguard as panacea when it is a comestible form of poison. We need visionary unity where there was once toxic divisive balkanization of exclaves of limited foresight clashing with new wave awakening to the persecution of illumination itself for not a rigid hierarchy but a flexible structure of inclusion that adjusts to cultural expectancy and modifies the traindeque that strands many in institutionalized poverty especially in Latin America and India and obviously Africa too. The stegophilists of language should herald the aubade of the chavish of redintegration over the squawk of din of squabbles of internecine redacted revisionism beleaguering our lyceums with toxic agitprop even at the highest institutions of learning who balk often at the recycled auditorium of useful thought because their venal tilt is complicit in squelching freedom of thought and our schools should open early so that zig-zag-zoom politics around feldtrounds who are eagerly outnumbered by the patrons who police thought become agentic not with outspoken treacheries but inseminations of intimation to hint at the spectral mystagogical reality we are all members of despite hurdles that beset the hemiteries of odalisques who seek inertia rather than mobilization. The ribald underminnow of transparency is a carcinogen of the rampant siege of Status Quo coarse hypocrisy for tentative flings with cadged cloyed saturnine professions of the landmines of atrocious miscarriage as I soldier on in the causes of the poor and the forlorn to become enriched by the glory that God delivers with munificence so that all might be enriched by the emanations of the true vine and in distaste of error I rebuke the armada of belittled armamentariums of the cantonment of deep-state breedbates boiling over potboiler frikmag that exists as a transcendent obscurantism flowering in decisive times to warp the contextual footprint of a life served in the service of all the oppressed people as a kind of Moses figure raised by the elite and fighting for the criminally oppressed and the ****** of mediagenic hyperbole is dissatisfied by my glowering spectacles because they dismount from the equipoise of the righteous gallop towards ecumenical solidarity at untimely punctuations of juncture superseding the flictions of frikmag dethroning my righteous valor and provident sanctanimity to prowl like predatory wolves the fathers of the casuistry of mendaciloquence to accentuate the stridor of inopportune squalor of the selachostomous regimes of teetotaler totalitarian freebooters who prevent bootstraps from manufacture as they gradgrind the world into ergonomic insufficiency while I provide a Kamacho-like galvanization to the broader world that favors the consanguinity of all animate sentience to the aboriginal vine of the universe that plays with the toyed cadge of oppositive support but lends credence to a more evolved view than the crudity of encapsulated travesties inserted with jaundice against the lyceum of freedom of thought and the celerity of headless horseman galloping in partial interregnum to crown the strobic stridor of the stiver of the steven of contarianism engineered for walloped ringleaders of the renegades of heresiarch sedition in their odalisque oaths to Pagan dieties carved from the sapwood of gullible Illuminati naivety that professes allegiance to the worst whangam ever invented Baphomet and his faked cronies of ewnastique free-for-all diminutive crags in the renown of dawning light becoming cagey struthious structuralism embedded in sclerotic wasms of the wanhope of a nullified message becoming a sacred creed to the attentive while the lilt of the otiose drawl in serpentine convolution a ribald pleonasm of circular circumlocution that provides locomotive linearity rather than leapfrogged slogmarches into the province of the territorial alignment of kinship against the partisan hollertrap and the stigmatophilia of obsessive persnickety popinjay beadledom the last stronghold of the rickety resistence to this Saturday interregnum which presides over the better part of the intelligentsia if not the common pedestrian parlance because hortatory weights cannot be described in any other way than metagnostic flickers of Yellow Submarine vandalism of a pristine living animation of the humane spirit that prizes the plight of the poor and the blarney and blench of unjust opprobrium faced by the institutionalized bailiwick of flictions of gammadion gallionic posture when in fact they register as seismic entities engraved upon my Christian conscience that strictly welcomes the emigrants to truth from whatever consecrated virtue they originate from because all are capable of the same light and the same compassion of a beatified humanity rather than the relish of deep-state castophrenia which belies its own ribald gay mockery on live TV as not a single twinge of ****** attraction overtakes me in matriotic sardanapalian effrontery of a hollow but sadly hallowed vainglory of the hierodules that bury the coffers of patriotism in a sad LGBTQ graveyard of landmines that demonstrate a complete disregard of the nuclear family and should be decried as an outcry against redefined Christianity bolted to unshakable irrefragable beliefs in the constitution of man and women wed together in one monogamous flesh with the occasional cuddle of close tithes to the ******* of friendship as the slavery of sin in Leviticus 20:13 falls to the wayside because this patriotic lewdness is a vapid fatuous derangement that is a new low for the United States attempt to inoculate China from religious accord with the broader world and should be seen as a Chinese maskirovka worthy of the heaviest disdain and I will disavow America if it continues to bandy the tripwires of Chinese boondoggles under the American banner and pretend its pretense isn’t lagging under its own bletcherous abecedarian elementary fallacy of psychobabble oblivion of dark saturnine brusque termagants of tatterdemalion cloaks of the selfsame illusion of a desperation of China to wreck the United States economy and inseminate Florida, Arizona and Texas especially with the Coronavirus to swing the election in Biden’s favor with or without US Complicity to expedite the course of a virus which sees no resurgence in any other civilized country in the world while the heroic Russians, Germans, Israelis, French, British and true American Christians banish the barristers of bad taste as an acerbic poison on the wellsprings of a flagitious flag I would kneel for in the knells of disgrace if the pompous and completely inoculated missives of Buttigieg ******* continue to roam shepherded by deep state elitism to wreck the opportune moment of religious revival for petty reasons of chryselephantine gambit and gimcrack for institutionalized poverty which my ambition is to heal completely by sacerdotal deeds and consecrated prayers in the Lord whose peace surpasses the temporal despair of senectitude and comforts the grievances of the aggrieved because Galatians 6:7 is no more true than the fatuous display of muscular idiots waving American flags for turpitude rather than flogging very perverse Gay men in the streets which might be a more fitting outcome even though I must remove the plank in my own eyes first to see the irony of the detested. The doytin is no longer misguided by the nanciful derision of the vociferous clangor of the venal Gates mafia militia wrecking ball vaccination Bezos crew in Medina which is a mettle I can’t match when you own every citizen in the world in a few square miles of nesiote territory the denizens of conquest besieging religious sanctity with profane outbursts of corruptible linchpins on the public lynch of the strepsis of periblebsis that vitiates commonwealths of supreme sputtering regimented clairvoyant superlative alabaster wealth of the isangelous protectorate of the supreme God that supervises his careworn flock into the storge against the scourge of prosodemic stigma stained in bleeding heart liberal bathed tears of pseudoautochiria of Jim Morrison glaring in the face of the triads that Killed Him in the French Connection ******* of 71’ that outnumbered his hobohemia of loyal jewish bohemians livid in the rhapsody of nurture rather than enfeebled by the unfurled destiny of the Soul Kitchen he foresaw to his own pitiable demise at probably the hands of strangulation because no autopsy was performed. Although repetitive Transparent is a real anthem for oracular mystagogical transcendence a mandatory hymn for the ryseolagnus of the poetic verve of a new wave swooning the cordial progressive of atmospheric oneness with the primordial vine and the vintners that congregate on populated soil to feed a desolate destitution of synoecy or synaesthesis in the syncretic rhapsody of the subfocal ageotropic plenilune yet saturnine lugubrious toil of those that shovel through the albatross of ewnastique recapitulation to the same tired “Its got what plants crave, it’s got electrolytes” wernaggle of the hopelessly dismal inkburch of illiteracy crawling like a Hyacinth House on a vacant graveyard turf guarding the legionaires of rapid-fire zig-zags through a serpentine curvature of the ligaments of fabricated space warped through prismatic lenses of aperspectival time aspiring for ventriloquial enamored rapture upon Earthly parallax with tapestries of refulgent cascading wandering wonder that meditates its own lucubration with careworn tutelage against the wasms of dying oleaginous swelters of redshort opportunistic vultures swooping with Raven’s claws against the odometer of viewership surpassing records in unspeakable wisdom that crowds out the crambazzle toonardical wreffelaxity of the tiresome nuisance of ornery brawn muscled into a formidable triage in vengeance for Jim Morrison’s scripted eviction from Earth either by poisoned ****** or by  Asphyxiation by the French Connection avenging RFK and the cultural revolutions of 67’ in Haight Ashbury and the widespread percolation of treacheries fathomed to the most obvious degree in showmanship that it bristled as an affront so severe that even the patronage of Paris wasn’t immune to infiltration. His threnodies will always be sung with Triumph that the hallowed day of a monumental soul eluding the darkness of purgatory into the welcoming aborning light of the noontide progeny of eternal ataraxia awaited him in the stagecraft tub of blasphemy bellowing ratcheted warnings that not even the palatine grasp of a potentially divine being was inoculated from the deep dark chasm of nefarious skullduggery for boasting so widely and openly of his professed foresight to glamorous to be hidden as the beacon of virtuosity that galvanized a generation to flout the  futtocks of a keelhauled vision of sanitized purblind mortality that the fear of death rarely crossed the mind of the greatest fearless poet of an entire epoch that we may pray that Jim Morrison feasts in Heaven atoned for his sins and is at peace with God now. The substratose congeniality of marginalia on the outskirts of pederasty in cultural miscarriage owned by hierodules boundless in their lurid debaucheries that they might be remanded for being custodians of hostage to a prolific nescience  reaffirming their dying posture in the extinction of sardanapalian coverthrow of repcrevel camorras of ladronism and dacoitage always cauponate in imbibed throes of lewd AstroTurf outrecuidance glowering at sanctity with a bereaved psychobabble divorced from the purebred empiricism of true giants of industry that are almost insuperable in their extortion that their darkness in deeds of Kobe Bryants assassination do not go unpunished at least in Los Angeles. His untimely death as with many others registered on the Richter Scale because Come Clean perverts from Kansas City wanted San Francisco to win to clean the mops of janitorial revenge of the subturbary rickety foundations of a flailing moral compass so wicked in arbitrage that no subreption undetected would flourish among capernoited vigilantes of poached titanism and illuminism scarring the vestiges of enigmatic encroachment upon untouchables daring the frights of the Living Daylights of scurrilous rebukes so scathing in their menacing depiction of negligent bromides of token sacrilege and scarred sacrifice of a scarecrow example of how the prosodemic scourge of befuddled turgid pristine transmogrified heralds scampered away with pseudoautochiria that afflicted Jimi Hendrix suspiciously as well. My support is behind the justice warriors aggrieved by the Beirut explosion because they deserve a vindictive outcome that quells the quislings of atrocity of the popinjay beadledom of the unspeakable tremors of seismotic popples of unrest warranted in Lebanon the homeland of Keanu Reeves a saint among men for his peerless grace and agraceries of the smog of myth evanescence becoming perdurable swings of the humdingers of berated jaundice becoming the prerogative of the revenge of a city leveled to the ground by suspicious skullduggery and I am surprised they lay dormant for this long in their protracted grievance over the ghoulish frights of one of the most unheralded major events in recent memory. We need to highlight the plight of Lebanon so that world leaders are frightened even of intimidated people tranquilized by terror rather than enlivened by the propriety of redacted rejoinders that serve the ulterior mission of a Titanic bravery that never sinks beneath the sumptuary treacle of grombang grambazzle and supercherie of the supercalendar of poignant repined repose derailing an emolument to ecumenical solidarity. Lets highlight Lebanon as an inexcusable trespass worthy of some mighty reckoning if not a riveted war but at the very least a devastated twinge of outrage.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
to me, the Cartesian saying had to be relegated to shrapnel,
i treat the cogito
                                           ergo                       sum
like i'd treat atoms, brushing and
signaturing each other with
a stabilised unification
under the name: helium, or hydrogen.
evidently that's also a term
for three dimensional space
and the cohorts of chaos that come
from it.
           but something worries me,
intrinsically it's what i would simply
term: the automation of thinking.
basically? it's blood hard to stop thinking,
to do yoga to intricate being
in nothingness,
    as Heidegger suggested:
non-being is a tier below nothing,
      and i guess automated thinking
comes from non-being,
because there's this intrinsic manifestation
of instinct found in all sport activities
that doesn't allow thinking to take place,
no footballer thinks about his exertion
on the football pitch, no golfer maps
out a system of thought to *** the hole
in one...
                some would even say
that thinking is a form of laziness,
          i find that the whole notions turns
out to be a **** up affair of concern,
the mere notion that thought is automated
    and cannot be barricaded against
its relentless battering our very being
is due to the fact that so many of us
do not attain the all that glitters is gold
particularity of fame...
             it's not that we are doubtful,
but that we are mindful / thoughtful,
a few of us make it to the top of the sardine
can, but so many of us are minding
our own business on this placebo earthenware:
yes, i call this a placebo urn of things
needed (people always rave about nouns
anyway, call it slang, or whatever,
it trends, hashtags and the outdated
forms of phone numbers - calling big brother
eeny, meeny, miny, moe) - i could
swear it's so, but then again, maybe not so.
still (what a crass digression),
coming back to the Cartesian shrapnel...
           basing in on weights and measures -
it's so tiny, that expression,
                      we can think the realistic
and only express a centimetre of the world,
we can be the realistic and only
express a centimetre of the world,
  and then we can think the illusionary
and express a mile of the world,
        and we can be the illusionary and express
   a kilometre of the world:
toward the basis of fame and contentment of
  the shadows...
       yes, we have achieved a "death" of history,
by simply stating our recreational pursuits
being more important than our
need for historical eventuality and crisis, and change...
we have stated a "death" of history
via our population size, our ability to combat
diseases (whether infantile or of a certain maturity),
yes, we have established a congested world,
which facilitates nothing quite like a herd
(cattle mentality): hence the modern concern
for alienation... we're created a collective manifestation
of insects, or as one might suggest
  this is yet another geocentric and heliocentric
concern for us... although relegated to
egocentric and the collective ethos of comrades -
but given the former has been eradicated
as it was previous known: communism -
      in economic vocabulary it's all but gone,
but still exists in the sports: yet again,
the re-surfacing of abolishing automated thinking,
namely, automated collision with the daily
activity - either competitive or mundane,
    as we all soon realised: if automated thinking
is not eradicated by automated doing
     we end up mentally distraught -
our own thinking alienates us and even progresses
to symptoms that have no viability
       concerning a drowning man, nonetheless
we're actually drowning.
i can hardly think that nothing is an abyss -
       to me thought is an abyss (cat meows,
i write, the fermentation of wine goes on in
four jars to my left, bob, pop, bob, pop,
and daniel licht is playing to the fatty *****
that's my brain) -
                     i knew that ponderings ii - vi
would get my creative juices flowing:
finally! a book on philosophy that i can comprehend
within that bilingual complex i've established!
or: this much can be said upon
giving a supermarket cashier a signed copy of
my actually printed works
     and hearing a compliment with eyes
waxed with glee (Tarah);
           now i have 100 copies to push,
become akin to a drug dealer with poetry,
           and that's not going to be easy
without p.r. and all that jingly marketing qualms.
still, what's there to be done
        if not that there is something to be done,
even if it's nothing, or a pebble on a mountain:
which is why there is so much
   potential in individuality, but also so much
angst - instead of doing crosswords we have
other riddles to be bothersome about,
   but so few even get a ?         to be concerned with.
again the Cartesian shrapnel equation,
              so much is staged on it in terms
of how thinking becomes automated, robotic
to the point of making children succumb to
    premature depression -
      back when premature dementia was the hit
on Broadway or in an Estonian lunatic asylum
in the 19th century,
when we first received our psychiatric vocabulary,
now it's the young who are odd
   and it is premature depression,
          a bit like the black plague, against
all hopes, a single identifiable folly.
             and where the best rewards?
solitude, where else?
                          for all that swindling of the talk of species
and competition within / without,
        always one ******* says:
                           i am the zeitgeist - always one:
are there really benefits to realising that
****** equation? are there? to feel alive, to feel
conscious, or the madness of Nietzsche's reversal
stating that he's a thing that simply, exfoliates
necessary thought?
           thought is primarily a moral ought -
the should i or shouldn't i?
        it's intrinsic, inherent and simply: just there...
or in the unlikely event, a step into the abyss
   and subsequent pathologies of the enabling of
   a destruction of the soul: as manifestation
of a transgressively transcendent embodiment
of pure body.
                 so, against all duality, i simply fathom
that ****** thing as shrapnel,
     curiously via (as i already might have said):
so much thinking doesn't precipitate into being,
     and so much being doesn't precipitate into thinking -
or of those who adorn mental silk fabrics and Solomon rings,
         and those who have to pay for elocution
lessons due to their ****** endeavours -
      yet again, alignment with Thesaurus Rex,
cue: down Synonymous Avenue
                     because how many times are we sharpening
our narrative trying to feels less inclined
                 to exfoliate in the exotica of what's
the necessary verbiage, and escape into single
identifiable meanings, without poker, without politics,
without sexualised ambiguity?
for me language should work, not be desecrated
to fun: it, should, work;
                     or here i rest my ambitions,
without any poetic dogma - or to make poetry unrecognisable
when stated, for no reason to discredit
   the systematics of poetry: but for reason
                        Kraken wrangler on language -
as much as Nietzsche might have said about
      philosophical systems and their errors and lack of
honesty: i say as much about poetry careful to
be identified as such: metaphors, imagery blah blah -
all things that make people conscious of what
they're reading is actually what they're reading and say
it's poetry - as i said to the supermarket cashier:
enso (Japanese,
marcon purposively missing) - to write while standing up,
and so the reader is standing up,
         not a novel you take to bed,
                     and read for months on end,
dozing off, or sneering at "uneducated" people
on the train...
                         i might as well be writing instruction
manuals for the sadistic training of ballerinas -
              one cut, one incision, and get the **** out;
or at least that's the idea -
      learn to spell, work on punctuation variations,
    learn to tie your shoelaces... and don't believe in
the word edit.
rook Jan 2017
for autumn's leaves have fallen much too soon
and i, without my eyes to see the clear
brilliance of the sun, the stars, and moon
can still make out what the heavens brought near

the warmth of heaven's gift i feel fornenst
i hear the sound true emotion does bring
my heart, it breaks through its final defense
and on the ice first does this new love sing

what spell's been wrought to bring me to my knees?
what magic has your presence on me cast
to turn me from my abhorrence of he
to lover's gaze which alienates the past

And sooner would I cast myself to flame
Then dare confess when you won't feel the same.
Brooksimus Sep 2011
Trembles commence beneath the exterior
An eruption blacker than a hollow wails superior

All light alienates,
Obscured by manifested immorality
Only spared by vast vitality

Virtuousness defended,
Intended to liberate slaved maliciousness

Autonomy of the anima was the consequence
A union through yielded yin and panged yang existence
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
anyone see the brain i put into the washing machine? i think they took it and hang it out to dry, although i still think it's in a pickle jar of jealous ***** juices, going round and round, getting a brainwashing treatment rather than the joke about the thief who didn't wear leather gloves and a tight ****** hat, who didn't pull out his nails or scrape off his fingerprints, or shave his eyebrows... i mean, hell, i'm not into brainwashing that much - the k.g.b. did the same sloppy job on litvinenko - **** me! all the neurologists in poland are mad, and an m.r.i. machine does not exist in that country! i must have been inside a rocky horror theme-park ride!

there's that famous connotation to pomp, ego tripping,
my my, what a grand psychoactive
drug this is, ever danced smacking your knees
as representation of drumming
with your eyes closed in
a club on the embankment of the river
thames? giggling away at
the chance of momentary blindness?
i'm not here to give a macho representation
of me, far from it,
later ******* in the alley:
every club or bar i went to always
played terrible music, and too loud,
so i stopped going,
too much lip-reading you see,
like with this nurse going to do a job
on the housing project at north harrow
tube station, breakfast stop-over
at the mcdonald's at tottenham court road,
dragging my father out from
the depths of depression after
a man who married my cousin undermined
his team and got kicked out of a
company that later went bankrupt:
indeed that cloud of flies entering my
ear like a rain of syringes, painful like hell,
no respect for the underprivileged in terms of
health, you look like you just had a brain
haemorrhage you get pampering like a panda,
you look strong enough in order to **** someone
they think you're a chizophrenic... nicely done...
nicely done n.h.s., i think i'll take my compensation
in pride and emotions rather than winning
the jackpot of the godforsaken thing that
alienates people: can't cook for themselves,
need restaurants, can't clean for themselves,
need cleaners... civilisation and the death of
intricate tribalism... foremost family...
mano a mano con mammon...
hey, i only asked for an m.r.i. scan, now
i'm split bilingually making one story force
and the other story true...
anyway, back to ego tripping,
ego tripping is indeed a drug, but it's a drug
where you can't coordinate thinking,
it's like a primeval expression of the cartesian maxim,
you just sit there, self-aware (being self-conscious
has negative connotations via sartre's keyhole /
voyeurism), you turn into an object,
for example a tree, you ego trip as the tree
and thoughts are replaced by seasons,
the wind, rain, insects, birds...
you can't identify with anything,
even if you're ego tripping and a theory of relativity
comes along, you can't attach yourself to it,
you're tripping after all...
it's just you and the chaos of thought, there's no
ordered linear method of thinking,
you're strapped to a unit that doesn't move
but is a spectator of other things moving,
attaching themselves, or detaching,
and it's not necessarily egotism, far from it,
it just mean an elevation of *cogito ergo sum
,
how to make a blunt knife after it has been sharpened?
i guess ram it into bones or stones a thousand times,
or at least make dinner 360 times during a year
cutting soft flesh of tomatoes and cucumbers...
in terms of elevation i mean you're drunk
and you're tripping on the lack of thought,
a lack of a thinking cohesion / spider-web (
indeed the tarantula is a beggar among smaller
spiders, it has no idea of architecture, it hasn't
evolved technically speaking, tarantula the
anti architect)... so you're still tripping, because you
have no vector in sight, you're a pinpoint now,
a volatile coordinate, whatever thought comes into
range you can't narrate it... let alone vocalise it...
you're entering a void (jeez, this almost sounds
like making a waistcoat clock dangle and perform
a pendulum before opening the gates into
the subconscious and inducing hypnosis...
the gates into the unconscious are done by falling
asleep)... and then you sit down and decipher
all those thoughts buzzing around you that you
can't proceed from... ego tripping is best served
with alcohol - and it's hardly related to pomp,
esp. if you can't vocalise it and attribute the dropped jaw
of a ****** addict to be a symbiotic reflection...
or at least a carousel; in summary, ego tripping
is the cartesian ego sum, and no ergo and certainly
no ego cogito... well the ergo is there,
if you start to write something, but only then
when you step off the carousel.
Everlasting Nov 2016
You know what you must do,
Yet you do not do what you must.
Is it a lack of motivation,
Or procrastination that alienates you
from doing what you must?

Whatever it is,
just do...
shannonlarrissa Aug 2014
Who tears apart a family to fix a reputation?
Who alienates their child to prove loyalty to a parent?
Your irony is painfully amusing.

...The type of pain that rips your stomach from your throat and your breath from your lungs. The type of pain it hurts to  imagine inflicting on any person you hated.
And why?
To teach a lesson, to prove a point of purity. Your virtual hands are strangling my soul. Let me go, let me die. Let me breathe, let me cry.
But I can't cry, cause I can't breathe. I can't breathe so I can't speak. Let me live or let me die,  or at least give me a good reason why.
alasia Feb 2017
Why did you do it?
How do you feel?
Okay, but is it the daddy issues?
Regret isn't always instant, ya know?
Eventually, i will explode.
so i'm not what, sorry who, you wanted. maybe even needed. what is the difference. turn me over and get your kicks, did you think it was your eyes i wanted to see when i opened my own? you are nobody. not to me anyways. i wish you had blinded me: maybe i would have felt more. more than the voices. felt the music over your moans - that by the way sounded like you wanted me. felt what it was to be whole, full, content. everyday something feels like it does not belong in me and you were no exception. when you breathed into my neck it was no cold biting breeze but the memory of moments before my dog threw up in my lap - at least he looked apologetic. but i let you take it and now it's yours and that is fine by me but you have this problem where you don't know when to close your mouth and maybe if you had ever put it to use i could forgive you. insult me. please. you don't know how good it feels to have my worthlessness validated by a stranger. someone who doesn't understand my jokes and my biting comments: alienates my tongue and forces it back into hiding. the moment i felt a crack following the path your fingers had once whispered into my skin: i felt home. back to base one. back to being an infant learning how to operate these strange extensions of my body - which brought me back to you, who taught you to use those fingers? i wonder if you can hold a fork, is it crooked? the moment you couldn't peel a tangerine i should have known better. speaking of, i know i do. and i want to say it wasn't what you did or didn't do but there was a lot you skipped over. i can see you're impatient, impolite, even impotent on occasion and i have to ask: how do you support yourself on such shaky arms? i truly didn't think you'd make it through the whole, what was it, 15 (?) minutes. and what did you want? a prize? a pat on the back? for ******* and spewing your loneliness into me? lips too big, neck too long, decision making skills nonexistent, looked like your last girlfriend - did I miss anything else that was wrong? did my catholicism make it better? did that help you mount the white steed, you were no prince charming and the dragon was better company. did it hurt me, to be rejected that is, only about as much ***** as it took to laugh about it. does it haunt me? like every mistake i have ever made: but it's no big deal, you're bottom of the pile. that should please you, you couldn't hold yourself on top anyways.
I was done with it anyways.
Cody Cooke Feb 2019
What if our Species—far away in the past—was actually a race of neanderthals , but then a parasite from a planet inhabited by a race of Intelligent, Enlightened beings came here and has colonized us as meat husks and has failed to build a success.
Eventually, we lost our purpose.
So we followed the Sun—everything’s first god—our last hope as self-conscious apes who act in lines and indoctrinate all kinds of symmetry as dutifully as that big bright spot in the sky goes from Our east to Our west.
We are not jamestown geniuses—we are roanoke—lost in a foreign wilderness, cold and yearning for even a candles’ blink of warmth in the dark that surrounds us, alienates us, swallows us.
GaryFairy Oct 2021
I am shocked that people still say "you reap what you sow". Really? I kind of get the idea they're thinking of sewing eyes shut, while reaping their vision. Then they shapeshift and look like a possum/demon ******. I don't think they were thinking purely. Just to say such a thing would get you killed in iowa, in some farmer communities. Other states too, but i like saying iowa...and ohio. Plus, the relation to sowing and reaping. Ohioiowa Iowaohio! That is fun. Maybe i am so twisted that i used those states so i could say the words. Sung it three times and see if you don't feel like a cross between drew carrey, slipnot, and neil young. Then see if you can make senior citizens believe it's some native words. Ohio and Iowa were named after tribes, but didn't we make the words? And senior citizens made us? So weird. Get it yet dopes? Some of you say dumber things out loud. Like "conspiracy theory"...you should be locked up for conspiracy to conspire with theory, or maybe "theory of a theatre" Even a plain and simple theorist can make a hypothesis. Do you know what this means? It means that there are more dumb citizens in america than there is illegal aliens. Speaking of aliens, why do you turn green with envy and then turn red when someone alienates you? Is it because they use education to alienate you and you use lack of education for everything? Well education beats you. A **** first grader could come up with theories, and probably spell it too. It's funny for a while, but really if it came down to it...and we could get along without you blaming your inability to communicate on anyone but yourself, who would wear the "i'm with stupid" shirt? It's my shirt, and i've been looking for you, so we could stand next to each other and talk. Can you imagine if i could get a real conspiracy, or theorist to open up and actually know what a thesis is, and be all theory and no conspiracy, we would be famous. I hope you did read this you mental health industry science project. Now, please go somewhere you've never went yet. I suggest school or hell. My bad, but hell keeps getting harder con theorist

company keeps company with who company keeps
do i look like those who don't sow what they reap?
only bleed at home, blood of defeated is for streets
a leech waits in mud for that life that it eats

serving sunday service mud made of human dirt
blurred first by certain pain and imperfect hurt
discomfort in the gospel hotheads stirs pots
personal relationships, demons heat with the hot

friends without sin you cast all of the stones
forget about sin choir join in to crush the bones
trends of the soul you better let your master know
perfect people who never search only reap what we sow
ShirleyB Jan 2016
I wonder, sometimes, why it is a fact,
A gifted, handsome man should be alone.
My iambic pentameter’s intact,
And yet I tend to lyric on my own.

Alliteration alienates romance.
The ladies scorn my struggle with cliché
They scoff, then aggravated, wring their hands.
Yet still I need to couplet every day.

I’m thinking as I sit beside my date,
“I’ll syllable you soon if I am able.”
At times my meter renders me irate.
It’s difficult to rhythm at the table.

“Another cup?” I search her face for clues.
She looks a little bored. It can’t be me.
I pass the menu for her to peruse.
“Why don’t you try a blended Chinese tea?”

I’m formulating ditties as she speaks.
“I think I’d like to go. I’m rather hot.”
“Do stay. I’ve ordered brussels sprouts and leeks.”
Her grimace indicates she’d rather not.

I wonder if I’ve aimed a little low.
Her diction leaves a lot to be desired.
I’d like to teach her how to ebb and flow,
But ‘clueless’ leaves me, frankly, uninspired.

She fidgets nervously and looks away.
I wonder if the woman is a freak.
“I hope you’re not illiterate,” I say.
I may have been a little indescrete.

My fears were justified, she’s never heard
Enjambment quite like mine in all her days.
She slaps my face and tells me I’m absurd,
Then dumps me in a non-poetic daze.

I could have blessed her with a monologue;
Enthralled her with the kernel of my quill;
enchanted her with dazzling dialogue,
If only she’d have stayed to pay the bill.

Now woe is me. I’m lost and incomplete.
Lamenting my position; full of doubts.
Deliberating how a man can eat
A double share of leeks and brussels sprouts.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
of said god, can't i complicate language to the point where it can even remotely contrast with some science? i just want to explain an antithesis of language having the cursor, torjan horse character of being useful... for one thing only: some exploit. can't language become as complex as the person, that language can only become complex with a person throwing themselves into some activity, and subsequently abstracting language, for the basis of per se? i can't use language to define the need for the concept of debt... or... money... mythical beasts akin to the Minotaur? sure, they pass my gaze almost everyday... could it ever not be a case of one instance, that applies complexity to language per se, rather than as language with complete utilisation in a nieche subject area? surely if there was no language per se mechanisation of someone thinking about it, there would also be no dyslexia... language as a per se complexity doesn't require specific areas of interest to "complicate" it further: hands already do what hands are capable of... rarely do tongues turn into egos that later hands are capable of when practising table manners; or for that matter... seeking audience in a parliament; can't language be complex for the basis of per se? evidently some of us would like for language to have this element when it is concerned... couldn't the language's per se then be nothing less than a cursor, or a motivational factor, to upkeep it, to invoke a survival instinct, to continue using it? indeed, philosophers speak of the term per se, or clarifying it with the noumenon.... the same is true for poets, and metaphor; you put something in it, something else comes out, notably counter to your original expectation.

i once brought a hedgehog home
and showed it to my cat,
like when i built a theme park for a mouse
i was chasing for my girlfriend to
see, dangling it by the tail once caught,
to later see the mouse commit suicide,
running off the stairs in an Edinburgh tenement...
in a bedroom, a whole theme park
of worth sketch, the dire death of thrill
seekers, subsequently happened (as that i am,
quick to tango to the song Beorn);

   call it: language as not intended to give
instructions... not adept to caste concepts...
        language as something appropriating
experimenting with lysergic acid...
     i never cared to write my knot of language
as if it might make someone else
        use their limbs... put up a table...
last time i checked, language wasn't about
being oppressive...

i once owned a jaculus jaculus...
   this ugly ******* told me that if i dropped
it from a height it would survive...
i dropped it, and the joke subsequently went:
the parachute didn't open...
    the trauma seems to have bloomed...
right about not people can stop talking
or have anything meaningful to say to me...
it's not that i'm pretending to be deaf,
i'm just deaf concerning what they have to say...
just so happens: if the devil isn't listening
then there's no need for a god either.

these moments! these moments are real!
they're the only things that matter...
and when they shout
allahu akbar, is saddens me,
because i swear i just learnt
the *shahada
of la ilaha il allah...
only by heart's command,
and do, what only the heart cares to will...
for then you will something
meaningful, and so much less ordinary...
or just allow a Turk to speak...
and a Mamluk to listen...
we have to borrow from history,
to actually address it, keep it, face up to it...
existentialist philosophers are thieves,
Judases...
          we need no "    " zoo to teach us
the second lesson of acquring words
and having no mathematic clarity,
   so it's all left on the care for flimsy...
and only a turk, can say the word
shaitan to then see me weep...
it just so happens, that you can write
something and cry over it...
         and the people, and the world,
and all that heidegger *******,
simply becomes: a hush....
         it just dies off, it a symphony with
a deaf person "peering" into it,
instead the sound of a violin,
all he gets is wet ****... and sloppy ****
for seconds...
or a blind man asking for glasses when
reading homer...
                i'd love to pity them,
but our culture has too much concern
for stating a delay in sympathy,
and too little, immediate empathy...
   i don't cry because i'm unhappy,
i cry because of the memories i have,
and that's what's sad... well... "sad"...
i listen to a kultur shock akin to
zumbul, shaitan and sarajevo,
and i weep...
              the myth goes,
had the devil a limb to stretch out,
the forbidden fruit of eden would
have been his heart:
you give people an apple, they come back
with cider... so what's new?
oh man, and in need of a fathered stock...
boundless in your neglect,
   perpetuating your fore
    by ascribing so much onto abandon
and: isn't oliver twist just as much a myth
as god?
            what, then, mana?
some deeply desired energy that eventually
alienates you from others?
           if language can be anything,
it can at least leave you reading something
that has no need to instruct...
                 back in the 1960s they took too many
drugs and wrote too much about them...
now that psychadelic drug experiments
having a running narrative, what's the point,
of even taking them? i'm part of the dodo project,
and i wish those hippies didn't write so much
about their experiences....
  it sorta makes me not want to have the experiences,
how they defiled the original premise,
hiow god (words), shouldn't be grounded in these
trans- experiences...
               oh ****, have then, take those cactus extracts...
but please don't write about them!
that's precisely me, reinventing drunk...
   watching billions with only one eye
open... because if i look at the t.v. with
two eyes i'm dazed, swimming under water,
who the **** turned on this carousel?!
    i so wish they had their beat generation moments
and didn't exploit to have to write about
psychedelic drungs...
    i'd like to have taken them...
             now i can't...
  i'll be paranoid when i'm unable to write a poem
about the experience... back to drunk me...
turning panicky watching a television with
only one eye open to stop the imitation "dizzy";
might as well be a fish in water...
     mate, what a bother...
      i rarely experience being drunk...
           but when i do i know that impromptu cyclops
allows you to concentrate on a t.v.,
and nothing is really spinning.
Nomkhumbulwa Aug 2018
He could have walked away,
For there were many a reason to do so;
But he never did;
He was there through the highs and lows.

I gave him many a reason
To walk away for good;
And yet he stayed beside me
While I was in his neighbourhood.

There were panic attacks, crying,
Semi madness, paranoia;
All the usual consequences of
Being assaulted a year earlier.

There were so many times
I expected him to be gone;
I warned him in fact that -
I’m not worthy – my people are gone!

There is no need to put up with me,
Its not good for your health;
I’m used to people disappearing,
I’ll deal with things myself.

For I am being punished,
It’s how its meant to be;
At least for those of us assaulted
....in the middle of the sea.

But of course he didnt understand,
He’s from a different culture;
He wasn’t afraid to hold my hand
And protect me from the torture.

He has probably never met anyone
As mad and unstable as me;
Coming to stay in Soweto
And feeling so totally free.

He saw my love of Soweto,
For the children, the people, and more;
He spent so much time exploring his home with me –
He’d learnt which combi to get door to door!

When I had to get to clinics,
Not just one, two, three, or four (!)
He spent two days right there with me
As we waited hours to reach the door.

He didnt have to do that,
He has work to do back home;
Yet even when I shouted at him –
He never left me alone.

Of course I apologised later,
Tried to help him understand;
That my brain does its own thing,
Yet he was still there to hold my hand.

He never once walked away,
And thats when it occurred to me;
What a complete cultural contrast
....to our “people of the sea”...

My “family” are now Sowetans,
Although i’ve known that for a while;
When the clinics registered me as an “African”
All I did was smile.

Of all the times I thought i’d given
A reason for him to abandon me,
There was one in particular –
Where he’d be fully justified to flee.

To protect yourself i’d understand,
You may need to walk away;
And yet he didnt – he put himself at risk
...to protect me, I have to say....

It’s not an easy place to live,
He could have walked away;
I’m forever grateful for his bravery
And that he didnt walk away.

For a place where for so long,
Segregation was the norm,
It has come such a very long way –
Since the day I was born.

My culture, mixed as it is
Has not suffered in this way;
Instead it shuns and alienates people
....if they “dont obey”....

Well done South Africa,
Though the problems you face are not gone;
You could teach a lot to “my people”..
..a culture that needs to be re- born.
Written on Mandela Day 2018; an account of the total contrast I found in a society so different to the one in which everyone I know...walked away.
Sid Lollan Sep 2017
this always happens:
sitting at tombstone
desk—blood clots from hours in this twobuck
torture-chair;
4AM? can barely read
my own thoughts,
neatly arranged,
painstakingly painted a
cross ether
glare of the computer screen.
Seven stanzas devolved
from the act
ual epiphany
of the p o e m;
chest tight,stomach churning acid from
cheap *** cheap cigarettes and cheap
grass rolled up in
99 cent Dutchmaster cigars—
Forgot to eat, forgot to hydrate, forgot to remember
the truth i was trying to forget
—forgot the point i was struggling to articulate;
Did i have a point?
I’m beginning to note tiny
Beings of Light
out’ve the corner of buzzing eyes,
all too familiar friends
friends of fiends, vampire junkies,
raving mad x-politicians,
and nocturnal suicide poets—
who after failing to get laid
in college bars
and drinking too much, too many boring conversations
with dull goons;
Get home, pour another glass,
cigarette      to dry lip     in perpetuum; beatiful Miles,
Porgy and Bess, sit down to
computer and write p o e t r y
not prose,
not prose—Man’s revelation of
histories to come, histories manifest.
not prose which brings Man’s higher-self
        into the great
        Universe-at-Large
but p o e t r y, pretentious,
narcissistic, self-important,
which alienates man from his tools of realities;
enemy of machine—but Man is machine;
no poetry is Man!
no poetry is animal,
primal, instinctive;

Well, **** me, half
way thru another cigar,
“maybe i’m not learned enough
to write a story, a **** good one at that…a novel
i’d say
-good luck you simple sloth…How
could you? just a regular self-loathing chimp
who writes — p o e t r y.”
really pondering
hard; thinking: i can’t be [that] dumb,
i'll admit what i don’t know,
(but Hell, least i’m smarter than the next guy, the
       next guy, the next guy…til the next guy makes
me a **** fool; time to relocate and read some books.)

return my eyes to the computer screen,
re read what,
an hour ago,
i was, prematurely awarding myself the pulitzer prize for
as i see it now: pure
*******.
Devil’s attorney
slinking on slouched and grim drunken shoulder,
“hmm…and you say this is your forte?…
I wouldn’t kid yourself…kid.”



Warnings
in grave visions
of a desperate worm of a man
hunched at resin-stained desktop, scribbling away
His fancifull abstractions, broken man— Mad
and scared; shriveled,
scarred by regret—
Thought he was a talker;
witty, true like Bukowski,
        or Heron;
Fresh,
inventive as cummings
        or essential as Pound.
Simple
and brilliantly smooth
        as W.C.A  or W.C.W.
elegant, smart
and far-reaching as Eliot,
        or the Old Romantics;
could have sworn his musings
Rapturous! no Thoreau, he,
        nor as damaged as Poe be
under the Impression
He could stitch his Soul
into the seams of American Divine, direct such
spirits into p o e t r y as ***** ol Ginsberg did
so bravely, beautifully
as
Wherefore art
thou loving father? in Heavens is Walt
Whitman—
He
sure was;
He
was sure,
******* sure he
possessed a nugget of gold, mined
          from inside each of these masterful
Mountains. panned entire sunsoaked cordillera;
yet
each night
would ‘finish’ a
p o e m,
clock out, tho
always would feel, incomplete,
nevermind how many p o e m s he wrote
hundreds, maybe thousands of
bottomless wells
        of words;
Great Idea! Necessary Idea,
take action, he, in prose,
a form of action the action of wit,
to give human
body to formless, ex-humed soul—
Give soul to formless body of philosophy by god!

alas,
the schmuck
never
witty never
potent enough to pen a real
mother-****** of a story,
certainly
never could imbue a plot
with significance, endow with subtext
or builda character out of his p o e t r y,
        Then give it the legs to run for two-
         hundred pages—
He had the ****, just
not the ***** of it-all…
toiled, silly
in his nebulous, castrated,
dimlit room—swelling
whiskey or gin
cigarette glued to his dry lips, attempting
to romance the grey gods so
that thay mey spit mustard-seed
onto humbled holy head—
pray that it may grow, Flower
to full Bloom
even without
ever learning
his Biology.
…never
realizing what he had there—right
in front of him. Poor *******.
-Dumb. he was.
Cursed to be a P O E T.
and doomed to fail as one.




I hate the sound of the Sunrise
when i’ve been up, writing all night; it’s
an alarm like bones in a blender
thru an endless
waking dreamscape;
Sitting, thinking loosely,
wildly, loose-
change two-cent thoughts—
This
this is when regulatory bodies
are disabled, de
funded; radioactive runoff (operational hazards)
contaminates
pure streams;
...random billboard pop
t-r-a-s-h drift in
and out of mind(probably from
        the endless drone of those same 3 chords in
any store or restaurant you enter. How about some Classical?
        Math: the food ain’t rot ‘em enough, let’s assault
   their other senses of taste. Quick. while
        we’ve got them swine trapped!)
politcal memes, halftruths and
newsday buzzwords flash, bright and
silly then recede into obscurity;
only to discover, the next morning,
their greasy finger-prints
given gimcrack shine to deeppurple dawn
Gibberish. trife piffle. bunkum and balderdash,
gobbledygook, mumbojumbo jackshit slangspit
hogwash, ** lotta raspyutintutyncomman nonsensses hoosis mut nowago sayawahhesay too dum for dada…
My
yawns
are now childish giggling;
My concentrated writings. none of it makes any sense to me.
Searching for a distraction
To regain my focus, composure…
biting
nails, tapping Art Blakey grooves on tired desk,
inspecting burning cigarette, forensically.
Oh—
look around for my cat, come here, co
me here kitty. (ah yea, comforted
by familiar purring, a hum from under the bed;

-Close my eyes,
to centralize
to meditate
to ***** out
inanimate,moving parts
to put finger
to pulse of programmed nub;
to create value
for a dying currency of language;
to whisper sweet nothings
in the ears of tender muses
and meaty hookers.
-At this juncture:
reconciled
where the finish line is
strung,
how it appears to me…only snag:
by the time i get here—none
of these
nothing have no meaning
writing,this,that? what? be
low my paygrade *******;
Let stew; sleepy,
delirious, suicidal, anxious, sorta
*****, deadly confident;
Let stew...
…then it hit me like a Point of Intoxication!
brilliantly constructed
Words,
words hanging,
hanging
like a,
Renaissance-style portrait
above a fireplace in an enlightened *****-den,
    -for a moment, seen clearly thru parting
    of deadeye yellowsmoke sea.
Maladroit,
hallucinatory, went to type,
thought better,
no doubt would ****** such
sudden genius,
fumbled for recorder, gotcha
click:
closed my eyes oncemore
to review this epiphany, to record it.
relayed, recited
like a prayer;
perfectly—this must be what the body
of Christ feels like…
when done, i, exhausted,
smiled like a son a *****
how fine
that P O E M is gonna look,
when written
down all nice and neatly.
it was close(but i knew i'd pull
something revelatory out’ve
my ***.)
satisfied,
if my pants weren’t dry
i'd swear i came.

...the following afternoon,
Upon waking, coffee, cigarette, news
in the background,
grab the recorder to listen to this opus;
well,



**** ME!
if
i didn’t make sure there was any space left
on the ****** thing!
bye bye my petty kubla khan
Smart Boy.

ah well...
it’s just
P O E T R Y ya know.
S E L Jan 2015
buckle to the times
The young man finds a long chapter ended, awaits another
Knowing the wind blasts aught of charity
Ennui cavorts random and alienates the helper
Many trapped in posts akin to sinking, heavy blocks
Till one dash of black wave must destroy the stagnant water pool.


bye, little bird
Wish well her of shy mind on this strange and hasty trip
To impress a panel to make an odyssey out of learning
Suture memory with anticipated creme de menthes
And liars fall flat, who faltered never 'fessed
Upon big, iron wing you fly--bye, little bird.


hard**
Like a Dutch fan with the top of russet, critic to the hug
She comes from so far to meet the southern sky
A little late, but always arriving in white: trio on the green
Sturdy bedrock steadfast in the spiraling crash; salt on lips
In the clasp of beach blues, the sun shines hard.


Grownup offspring do move on, slips of life
Some attend not rushed meteors; start living.
Poetry bother me,
late night,
late in the day ,
does not matter!
.It Is a desire to *****
a new world,
a new thing
that makes me crazy,
Chases in bed ,
rips the mattress ,
I steal the covers,
I hijacks the pajamas.
.all Day bother me,
everyday,
all the time,
does not matter!
.A Poetry ****** me off
all the time,
robs me the second ,
the minutes , the entire clock.
.**** with my calm ,
bare my soul ,
accentuates my anger
and stone me ,
.me Turns inside out ,
disrespects me ,
me frightens ,
***** me ,
.She Takes me
and you receive me as anecdote,
Sometimes you love me
and sometimes I hate me .
Poetry completes me ,
But never satisfy me .
So addiction me
this drug me anesthesia ,
.They Treat me like a *****
And ***** me mercilessly ,
smells all my powder
and leave me in bed , alone.
.Me Separates ,
Alienates me ,
Enslaves me ,
I still buries in life.
.Make me to be
Another toy,
poetry that complete me ,
But never satisfies .
Cedric McClester Mar 2016
He’s a huckster yessiree
With water wine and steaks ya see
A president he’ll never be
That’s not in his destiny
But he can polish up his brand
And talk about his size of hand
To try to make you understand
He’ll whip it out if you demand

Some call it politics
I call it bricks and sticks
With lots of ***** tricks
And undereducated hicks

An egotistical maniac
That’s who he is as a matter of fact
And it doesn’t matter how he acts
Toward Mexicans as well as blacks
Or the Syrians he won’t let in
Now he can spit in the public’s eye
The normal rules don’t seem to apply
But death is something he can’t defy

Some call it politics
I call it bricks and sticks
With lots of ***** tricks
And undereducated hicks

A prevaricator and charlatan
And he’s far from the average man
He’d try to have you understand
Why he advocates a Muslim ban
He alienates almost everyone
Besides the thousands who come
To his rallies are they dumb
Or have affinity for a stumble ***

Some call it politics
I call it bricks and sticks
With lots of ***** tricks
And undereducated hicks

Give him credit he tries hard
Despite the fact that he’s so flawed
To enter partnership with God
And get the masses to applaud
He’s no genius as he pretends
He has too many loose ends
And fewer real true friends
Outside of bonds with dividends

Some call it politics
I call it bricks and sticks
With lots of ***** tricks
And undereducated hicks







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016.  All rights reserved.
Cedric McClester Jun 2016
By: Cedric McClester

For the good of the party
They need to reassess
Who’s holding the trump card
In case they haven’t guessed
The party of Lincoln and Reagan
Has become so much less
But who is nominated ultimately
Will be the final test

For the good of the party
They need to disavow
The frontrunner’s shenanigans
They need to do it now
The whole world is listening
And watching his offensive style
He alienates everyone
We’ve known it for a while

For the good of the party
They  need to call a halt
By rejecting everything he says
Succinctly his gestalt
If he’s perceived as a racist
It’s totally his fault
The whole world’s sensibility
Has come under his assault

For the good of the party
They cannot let him claim
That he’s truly one of them
Because he’s not the same
He is so objectionable
That the word I used is tame
But when we get right down to it
The party must share the blame






Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016.  All rights reserved.
Cedric McClester Mar 2016
By: Cedric McClester

Another protester
Is on deck
As the speaker
Sprouts familiar rhetoric
He’s not appealing to
The crowd’s intellect
He’s provoking them
I would suspect

And he’s selling them
His impossible dream
And the more he promises
The more it seems
They become undone
At the seams
As he wraps up
His time-worn themes

He’s gonna make America
Great again
Hear his dog whistle
Calling all white men
Who’d like to relive
The past again
And if they can’t relive it
They’d just as soon pretend

Now he doesn’t mind
Who he alienates
He plays the dozens
And he hates
Insults opponents
At debates
And when he’s trapped
He puts on skates



Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.
Onoma Apr 2019
we ought to call

perception: mirror wars.

how one comes to reflect

on something, with incalculable

prior reflections--and vice versa.

a red apple turnt purple.

which's why the oft asked question:

where are you coming from with

this?

crops up, alienates and stumps

conversation the world over.
Chris Slade Apr 2020
Politicians, when questioned, who begin their answer with “So”... Those who waffle when questioned and yet they clearly don’t know.
Juggling “ums”, “erms” and “aahs” when struggling to avoid the truth.
It alienates, infuriates and generally makes those interviewed sound unprepared, uninformed, dense, almost uncouth.
But that doesn’t stop them!

The nation’s thirst for updates demands Government be contrite. Approaching difficult situations, yeh - but ours, dropping ******* left & right.
It means an address from a hapless minister almost every night.
Each department must have top aides quaking in their boots
because the media correspondents, incisive, sharp, erudite and firm
shoot tricky questions, deliberately, to make the politicos squirm.

It shines a light on what the country needs... clear thinking, logic common sense, honesty, truth, stealth and less guille.
Not subterfuge, not **** covering,“let’s dodge the bullet” style. Certainly not ten grand extra for having to work from home.
But sharper more contrition, put yourself in our place for a while! We want to be reassured, buoyed up, not consumed with bile.

You get more support and sympathy if you just tell the truth!
A poem based on the UK Government Press Briefings during Covid-19.
An awkward time
Things Change
Because a rep in the BPO becomes a supervisor then manager
This doesn’t give them the right to belittle other support and reps
Especially bullying and using bad words or snide comments
This upsets agents and makes them feel bad and perform worse
Plus it alienates them from the support and makes them look bad
In front of the entire team and often call centre which is bad
Respect lost in a minute often never to return or returning forced
Call centres are hire and fire them with egotistical bosses
Reps soon learn not to care less and hop to other centres
Brian saw this and experienced it putting his experiences down
So others can read learn understand call centre work
It’s not all bad but nor is it perfect and there’s much to say
Like any other industry there are good and bad points
Only by speaking out and education will things change
Qualyxian Quest May 2020
The downside of education
It alienates you from your own past

Ignorance is not bliss
But good times do not last

Every beautiful thing
Comes from strife and pain

Even wedding rings
Slip off in English rain

Love is fairest fine
But it does not conquer all

I lost her in the summer
First found her in the Fall

Missed her my whole life
Now another man's wife

                                Silence
                          No phone calls.
Tom Shields Sep 2020
I'm feeling paranoid again
about this real life cone of silence
these close friends of mine
and I suffocate on my instincts, the walls are closing in
when I look for a helping hand I don't know if I'm reaching or
lashing out, I can't tell if this is a fist anymore
I cross my arms and hold myself tight
I can't betray another trust
this fear is the poison that cyclically excuses my vitriolic behavior
I will sweat it out cold turkey, until I drench the bone
hobbled and still standing, emerging,
an addict to the mischief that alienates me, I love the conflict
and hate myself for it, social anxiety riddles me, how do I overcome self-destruction alone?
write
please read and enjoy
Norbert Tasev Sep 2020
We stand alternately on the platform. We stand in the changed Time; we follow the side sound of blind tracks purely, disciplinedly unceasingly. Here the joy of existence is that we dare to get up and hope again - what was once priceless and perhaps most precious!

Blood clots lift up rocks, tiny dams, wordless in us, like silent murderers who silently sit down and ****, choking alive! The final fragment of Being is now scattered with monotonous and melancholy indifference, while under the surface the devouring death moves and bites…

The year-ring of the seasons is placed on our faces: The broken tears of snow, soot and sky send their sky-whining messages to us! "We are only digested on our own, and we are free to digest us in degrees of self-pity!"

With the gaping black threat deep in our hearts, the flowering spring and summer of the missed happier years stares at us. The cradle of the mundane universe of life, in which innovative love may have been conceived! -

This is how we stand, we stand and wait in the hope of a safer start, and we do not realize under the surface secretly and individually how much of its hidden weight and driving force is the secret mechanics of the richness of forgotten details, the chain of small fragments! And if we are mistaken for a single moment in sure uncertainty - the obscurity of the future alienates us!

Let’s ask ourselves the eternal One-Question: Where did I have to start, and how long do I understand ?! "Desperate abandonment and abandonment is our most patient killer, because it doesn't ask much!"

— The End —