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Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
death does bind and make some of keeping
kind (that queens and  kings would like to
usher in like spare change when buying ivory)...
seem majestic...
    we alter what that reality
states... paupers' hands and
pauper's mouths...
        dare i feel sly or in need
for the armour of fear, at
a seeing a feeding ground?
is that: dare i? or must i?
     i nevffer heard of a greek
that ate-himself to invert
the metaphor of what poetics had to offer
in the first place...
          how dear the price...
and how dire the lion imitating a fox
on cold and wet outer-suburbia streets
of essex... should a machiavelli
  prance about, like some stańczyk,
for a need of a choir of woe...
and oh the sadness: how it echoes!
        in one grant on the crucifix:
for a sponge-soaked grasp of wine refused...
this be the deity?!
          you refuse wine on the cross -
is that a surrender of honour?
            when you're already on it, why should it
matter?
     so give me unto their religiosity,
but for god's sake leave me alone and have a drink,
what's so honest that it needs to be said?
  and what wasn't said in the last three decades of
of the 20th century?
               i bow, i quasi-dance and play the stańczyk
role, like someone about to embark on
the enfant terrible role...
           as an empty stomach would make you feel
to have a "need" to write something...
               i'm thinking cheese,
and parisian dough baked into a croissant...
and goo...
    the motto stands: the hungry man can think
of nothing but food...
             and if you're lucky enough
your temptations range into the dialect of
******...
                 i'm just thinking of king crimson
and the eton mess...
     and why you'd see fashion models drop in
2 seconds if they had my diet of *****,
given their champagne ingestion...
   i used to do bulimia... but it wasn't about laxatives...
two things down my throat: ugh!
that's the right concept, isn't it? like **** stars
talking about training their **** like any
other muscles for depicting the fetish?
    same as the oesophagus,
   you want to really do bulimia? *******
down your throat... it's like ****,
but something different at the same time...
    like ancient romans used to do it...
i bow... and hope some are eager to continue down
this vein of "thought", or how
                       θ   can equal        φ,
and the door finally opens, and chimeras as released.
i swear to the hebrew god:
  ******* down the throat, no laxatives,
it's what undid the citizens of Pompeii -
fake eating, simply fake the impulse to eat,
then eat.... and regurgitate it back up...
like this theory i had today:
could lactose be categorised as an alkaline sugar?
well... fructose and all the other sugars seem
to be acidic, since they rot teeth... i'm starting to
think the sugar in milk is alkaline...
           the sugar in yogurt is alkaline (naturally),
i don't know why but i'm starting to think
there is a pH spectrum of sugar,
       one side being acidic, and one side being alkaline...
i drink milk in the morning and think
about eating ice-cream (but never do)...
              lactose is categorised as a sugar,
so where's the kantian categorical imperative
on that?                 it has to originate
with a concept that sugar has to have
an acidic and an alkaline spectrum...
               what with lactose akin to haemoglobin
and the Fe+2 centre... then lactose must have
a Ca centre... calcium...
                   i don't have the time to write
the concrete Ca+2 or -2 or whatever it is that couples
this substance... it's an alkaline sugar,
it's not an acidic sugar... it's apparently the thing
that makes strong bones...
i drink it and think of eating ice-cream,
i sometimes had a breakfast of black coffee
a spoonful of sugar and a spoonful of melted butter.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
when i = ? i count that, to be the lowest ebb,
and only the word allah can prompt man to genuine song...
truly, i = ? is the lowest ebb,

capitalism has this behavioural
pattern, in which things
fish, cars, aeroplanes are
given the gravity of language,
so they they can express feeling
an via cinema excavate a man's
heart and speak to the heart of man
of a symbiosis...

capitalism is currently concerned with
symbiosis,
like parasites and its hosts...
   it seems we have to pass the concept of
word to dogs or sausages
    in order to keep a dialogue...

i spent this afternoon looking at pictures
of beren saat [beˈɾen saˈat] -
or how we could just insert a macron
and hide the aa... or ah... of fake needing
a dental appointment, or extract a breath
of that H in ah?
ergo? beren sāt... oh, look... it looks
ugly... doesn't it? two strokes to write an A
look more appealing than a hyphen above
the letter with a prompt: prolong it...

it's what i see that i write about,
what i hear can never really penetrate me...
i watch a youtube video of the amazing
atheist
and think: kinda like me, by the look
of things?
       nah, not really,
    why am i deluding myself,
i can grow long hair and don a beard,
but i'm bothered about
   the following "arithmetic" that's i = ?,
like i hear a turkish girl talk in a shop
and i'm weak in the knees...
   oh look... they call that why we avoided
diacritical indicators in the first place,
a silent k,             a knife...
a gnome.... and gnosis... then all shouting
and pain in diagnostics...
          
i spent that time watching my grandmother,
and how in poland all the old ladies
are fans of a turkish t.v. melodrama
grzech fatmagül (sin of fatmagül)
the way she said the umlaut over the u...
she said it as an eel, or ill, or i...
that really bothered me...
    (you really can sing forever with only one
word... it's the syllable la...
    only a god that deserves praise,
and receives it in song, can be praised...
the jewish god only deserves the pain
of thought, contemplation,
the trigonometry of (i'm about to become lawless
and make spelling mitakes for fear
that this u.z.i. of a tongue isn't ******* out
bullets as it should be, ******* out bullets / words);
i look at language, and i want a mandible jaw,
i don't want a free-from-pain spine,
to live a life: stiff readied for a coffin...
  it's just rules, and they exist...
i call it the nadir of i = ?, and subsequently call it
a fake nadir of i = !,
    ¿too spanish? oh right, wheelchairs...
what was i thinking?
                        
of the curiosity entombed in silence and with
only the wind to give an answer...

we say just as much... the stress on the iota in
english can easily be transformed into
a polarity, one that can fill books
with ? went there, and ? spoke about something...
competing with ! there, ! something!
   i...
                only when a language doesn't have
this abstract self-identification posit to
express language, this firm unit,
     only then does a language become so, base,
o.k., alkaline...
               they never thought about dissolving
a body once a ****** took place in
an alkaline bath...
      so many acronyms, shortenings,
let's just call it: the french prime unit /
smallest comprehension is reduced to je,
the poles have ja, the germans have ich,
sly *******... east germans say it as isch,
but keep the s hidden, so it looks better on script...

the problem with just saying i, and theorising
the extinct roman pronoun ego,
is that you get ditto... a sort of automaton
reflection of what we once were, and now, aren't...
europe sent thousands of plumbers and carpenters
to china... are europeans expecting for those
traits that could govern man properly to boomerang
back for women no finicky about those call-centre
employees? you ******* kidding me,
you must be...

because some men would really love mandible labour,
and talk less... no, really, the jaw can have a rest,
people want to fiddle with things,
dance the tango, touch, mingle...
     hard to not see ***-tango where the man is
only: huh? yeah, that, whatever...
             women could, once upon a time,
make men believe that they wanted to believe,
to purr something innocent into their ears...
what has made women into men so stating abadon?

i'll cite too much psychology,
    which to me is a pseudo-science,
too little Alexander Dumas, and what Athos said:
the best advice... is to not give advice....
                speak... talk... don't advice people...
psychology is the science where almost everything needs
to be faked, or to use the proper term: falsified...

and they call them the chemists, the biologists
and the physicists.... and surgeons

and they call them psychologists, linguists,
philosophers... and gods...

   that's the strata... i dare say: poets? what can they
usurp, but at the same time heal?
        what is their visible spectrum, outside of:
poets act shamelessly toward their experiences,
they exploit them... was lies beyond this self-love?

you get to write english, drunk,
and... undesirably have to get to look and abhor
the aesthetic, meaning you sometimes write
without conjunctions in the first draft...
then you reread and actually see missing conjunctions...

i talk about grammar like someone might talk
religion... because i was never taught it...
grammar to me is a version of catholicism i might
have engaged in, had i been confirmed in that
"coming of age" rite...

    i've been giving this substance and i'm told to
do something with it: language is like water,
you either drink it, or boil it to brew a tea-bag...
really? a relaxation technique? well... i could take more
fascination with a brick-wall, pretending to play
imaginary chess with each distinct brick being
introduced to strobe light... blinking: now it's white...
blinking... now it's black... etc.
   it's not even funny that i know inserting etc.
sort of killed the romance to your breathing pattern,
and my punctuation techniques, which i borrowed
from the fact that english doesn't intend to punctuate
for clear syllables...

it's only a case to teach better punctuation...
every time i'm in poland i never hear a word about
dyslexia... i'm starting to think that dyslexia
is only an english "disease"...
            it's certainly something you might hear
at school, in a catholic school, about jews...
but back to english bankers: not so good with words:
good with money though...
    i had a dyslexic friend ones,
and just spotting why, of all the nations that inherited
the roman alphabet, the english didn't adopt
a punctuation system from above...
evidently that leads to more diversity...
some would even say: for added complexity...
     but the english can't say: someone will come along
and decipher the current cipher imperative...
oh look... here i go... doodling further,
creating what writing ought to be: a finicky here
and there...

say: a butterfly effect...

   as with the concept of spring, exhausted by two months
of winter, awoken earlier than usual,
moving out of the fake Alaskan imitation laboratory
of seeing so little sun...
                increased productivity: no quality bias.

that's what philosophy books are:
    when the french existentialists complicated it
via "ego" and no moral dedication, effect, responsibility,
i had to write something post-existentialist...
don't get me wrong, sartre is a great novelist,
  but i'd rather stomach being & time than
being & nothingness...
                there had to be an answer to dittoing out
the ego, to stress: no agent of morality...
   sure... me and prostitutes... but ask them
about having an ****** "on the job"...
    
        still... can it be as complicated to say 1?
or to say: the litmus tests proved that i "said" ego and,
ergo, i proved i was a man...
              i might ditto out a meow, or a woof
to imitate a cat and a dog respectively... but dittoing
the word ego out... even if it is just an extinct latin
word... it has too much content to be "abstract",
this thing has memories, it has an imagination,
but sure, if i don't have a conscience i'd have to ditto it out
so i could start looking at my buttocks to find
something worth saying...
              
so first we create this prime human expression,
we eat the -ota                  and say aye aye...
                 and then we go back on that word...
beginning with: just when ms. clinton started barking...
i think that unravelled her campaign, when she started
barking... it must have been the time it happened
at one of her rallies...

   and i could write you any philosophy book,
replacing the "sound" expression with mute sounds,
like the mute letters in knife, gnome, gnosis, knee...
    ? think, therefore ! am.... and just so we're agreed:
that's not a stable maxim... it's volatile...
    since what piece of language was ever stable?
and not like phosphorus, that needed to be stored in oil
should it ever react with water? what part of language
was ever stable?

     2MgO
    (s) + Si
    (s) + 2CaO
    (s) → 2Mg
    (g) + Ca
    2SiO
    4(s)                  the years when i studied such crap...
i might be wrong about one thing though:
   it's an alkaline metal, stored in oil, and highly reactive
with water... magnesium or phosphorus?
         it can't be Na... that **** stinks and i'd love to
see the Dover clifss looking like it... yella...
         no so much blinding Ca...

why have the alkaline metals become so ****** right now?
  oh yeah... the part where i don't feel like
watching ****... that could translate into a wife,
three kids (as if)... a house and social respect...
that part... hmm...

          what is it with these alkaline metals...
so is iron (Fe) and Lead (Lb) acidic metals? could they
be classified as acidic? last time i licked a knife
i did get a tingling sensation as if it might be sour...

so acid is sour... i actually can fathom the taste of alkaline...
it's definitely not sweet...
              what a ******* mystery.
Chiyo Aug 2014
I have bruises like amethyst
But the truth is I’m the catalyst
When I see colours of bismuth
I know you mean business
Bruises like amethyst
But you say you’re a pacifist
An analyst an activist

But you held my mind so it contorts, distorts
And aborts so it can’t resonate or fabricate
Or rationalise a world inside
That doesn't exist and insists
That I can’t be kissed and won’t be missed

I've got a black heart like tourmaline
But I'm the alkaline to your acid time
Trust me I am fine, I'm a pale blue
Crystalline Structural perfection
Don’t need your affection or your ways
Of objections did my bra strap give you an
*******?  

You could say I'm a feminist
But I'm more of a scientist
Busting body myths like biologist
You say ‘but **** are ****** organs’
Listen you morons, all ******* are a erogenous zone
Regardless of gender , boys nips literally have no purpose
Except when they get nervous for getting a little lip service

Trust me I'm fine, I'm a pale white crystalline
Structural perfection I don’t need your objection
Not a gem stone for your collar bone I don’t give a **** about
Your muscle tone, I'm a cyclone all alone I could spend a
1,000 years on my own.
sorry not sorry ok
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
they (yeah, the paranoid pronoun, esp. in how it's used for abstract coordinates, concretely? conformists) decided it was easier to fill a psychiatrist's gob with my presence, and for psychiatrists to pay the mortgage with someone who they termed schizophrenic, forgetting the fact that the person in question was bilingual - odd how humanists confuse bilingualism with schizophrenia, maybe a coin flip later and we'd get biphrenic? that's pushing it, but it just might work to describe an atom evolved into a human form... basically in two places at the same time: confederacy of archaeological theology - and by being in two places, behaving differently in each stated sphere of observation... that's it though! theology translates as archaeology in science, excavating the designation of the argument of the spider and the spiderweb, the perfect yoga instructor, one position fits all... because scientific positivism is dead... it's dead... we're experiencing a transition into scientific negativism, mainly because there's a plumber's conundrum of a blocked fact-machine... which turned out to be a fat-machine... we're just hearing the same ****, over and over again.

i never knew it, but when humanism was born
it came across the challenges of
Darwinism (Aristotle's footnote),
with all due respect for humanism
though,
             humanism gave us
the most apathetic formulation of
any faith at all...
and do you see a rebellion happening
anywhere concerning this?
i see a bunch of ****-naked Amazonian
nomads singing the huh? huh?! song...
esp. when they see safety-hats and
tractors... me? i live in the
outer suburbs of a Greek city-state...
when you're walking down the
street and see a bare chested driver
of a tractor, and a loser (me) drinking beer
while the police pass by in their cruiser
and don't give a ****... well...
welcome to the Fe (iron) Fe Fe feral land...
(almost a sneeze, but not quiet)
metro-****** pinkies anywhere?
no... root that **** into your brains
you urban wankers... stay there,
rot... keep up the debauchery of
Beckton's recycling centre...
oh sure, keep the theatres open,
with Simon & Garfunkel applause of song...
like ballerinas and fat operas needed
an exercise regime...
Darwinism is brutal enough,
it's brutal, it's not pretty,
looking at it from a creationist perspective
you'll only get brutality from it,
only an Zimbabwe born englishman would
care to champion it... oh look!
a monkey ******* a ferret!
i cried today... my female cat was inspired
when a squirrel started doing gymnastics
on my garden fence, one paw tucked against
its chest... i haven't seen a squirrel in my
garden for a while, i've shown her a hedgehog
once, but a squirrel? try catching a squirrel!
it's like catching the ******* of a mosquito
wearing boxing gloves... or Zeno...
i cried my eyes out, by a squirrel...
acrobatic rats that hate throngs...
the simplest of things bring the greatest of joys,
and a consistency in thinking about
death make the simple assurances of mortality
so much more appreciated...
of course i think about death... why wouldn't
i? so this homeless man has a tent...
they're dragging them in, he says:
i haven't done anything wrong...
the military-industrial complex isn't secular at all...
psychiatrists are the complex's priests...
they're looking for subjects to ensure they earn
while giving oral *** to pharmaceutical companies...
and that's the *cul de sac
truth -
no, wait... humanism's religious doctrine is
Darwinism, can't deviate from that,
keep a kettle and a sun on the same timescale,
i'm Caribbean lazy though...
you with beer and joint, me with beer and another
and another beer and an Apache echo impression
of echoing-yawn,
we have evolved past mating calls of animals...
all we have are warring calls... la la la for simplicity...
or in verse of new Zealander Haka:
                           ****, have no funny lyrics...
where was Darwinism when mating calls became
subtle and we exchanged mating calls for warring chants?
where was Darwinism then?
you telling me i have to own a watch, a mansion,
a nice car and enough money for a child's private
education to make one at all? pretty subtle
and all the more less colourful... you can ask me:
where was god when the Holocaust happened...
i'd reply: where was a decent joke?
apparently Moses died from laughter...
now i'm stuck with having to proof read
the first print of my book... that's going to be
agonising... i hate rereading my work...
and aren't we in a standing still position,
on an escalator, or the journalists are gullible,
i mean they're worse than pigs, they're eating
regurgitated facts... they're the ones that always
end up saying: if it ain't broken, break it...
that's their magnum opus fixation, and
the recycling bin... that's what they're there for,
i bet you a hundred quid that Putin's tears
would have turned into diamonds if they fell
on St. Basil's onion domes...
all these ****-incubating-real-emotion
calculators of the English parliament are worth
a psychiatric sketch show... punchline?
you ain't ever ever getting out, ha ha!
Darwinism is cruel, and people sort of like
the whips of a static history, sometimes they come back
to the 17th century and make a television program,
sometimes they have a chance encounter
to cite something from the only century that can
be experienced with anatomical dissection skill:
namely the 20th, or to be accurate, the 2nd half
of the 20th century... most of the time they haven't
the foggiest about history these days,
they're either electron-clouds of electron-orbits,
ping-pong between these two conceptions...
they're always pro-neutral (proton-neutron
centre) - and indeed the tetragrammaton invested
in Ke$ha... ka-ching! sz sh sharpener of wit...
got to love tactical pop, or the caveman ontological
obituary of buying alkaline batteries...
i bought alkaline batteries last year,
which technically makes me a caveman...
compact disks make me a caveman...
books make me a caveman... i'm a ******* caveman!
drag my woman by her hair...
what a great Darwinism provides,
we're all comparatively stone-age...
i love how we just made all history between that
into cf. snippets, and how the caveman attitude
is supposedly a ****** pill to supercharge our
attitudes into beastly thumps and gurgles and
elbows up the **** thrills...
Darwinism is cruel, Darwinism is currently the
theology of humanism... but once upon a time
the religious aspect (or in humanism's behaviour prescription)
was ascribed to one hour on Sunday...
now we're sorta stuck in a church, 24 / 7...
now we're all our own ritual makers...
we have the holy communions of buying a certain
type of coffee in a shop, or it's called curry Friday
and Saturday takeaway randomisation,
gathering the ready-meals Sunday to Thursday...
everyone having the busiest of lives...
if religion is dead, then i must be a nun.
i don't think Darwinism actually attacked theology...
some people are proper pranksters with
the notion that Darwinism attacked theology,
some get to play Jesus in some biblical theme park...
what i think Darwinism damaged, primarily,
is history... if journalists keep spanning
historical references from here & now and
that greatest ontological excuse: caveman once,
Chanel model no. 2, we'll surely sell many
more shaving equipment tools and sanity pills as we go
along into 24h / insomnia society...
me? i'm out... i'll be keeping my imagination
honed toward the Faroe Islands, along with my sanity.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
l'amours dont sui espris...

  me and the moon cower,
me and the moon peer into the night,
from behind the cloud
from behind a puzzling thought...
me and the moon cower:
before the altar of the night...

well... i would never **** a fly...
at least i'd try...
the kingdom of insects states:
by some "consensus"
that the females are bigger
than the males...
i've heard it's not so with
mosquitos...

i couldn't **** a fly...
but when Monday's garbage collection
happens and i'm left dragging
an empty bin
into the garden to clean it...
i find... maggots at the bottom
of the pit...
still wriggling in the leftover juices
of meat and others...

carelessly like jerking off:
i pour some bleach into the cauldron...
sodium hypochlorite...
then some water for the foam...
the maggots disappear...
i wish them well...
but not much good could ever come
from drinking a corrosive salt...
alkaline implies corrosive salt...
well... i drowned some maggots in
alkaline...
but i very much care to have
a clean bin...

i ******* crocodiles and tears and tadpoles
into a tissue while
on the throne of thrones and send
them to: nowhere...
just before i take the no. 1 & no. 2
(no. 3 to ease up)...
then baptise myself in the shower...

summer will soon be almost over...
autumn will come
the proper fruits will start to fall...
i'll be making my wine...
it will take me 3 weeks or circa...
maybe 4... the apples will fall...
the pears too...
winter... when insects sleep...
as much as i might appreciate the copper-neck
suntan... i'll be happier to find that
the insects are sleeping: along with
the bears...

i rarely **** a fly... a mosquito, though?
each and every time...
if i were a zombie and a fly *******
a maggot-load onto me... i'd beg to digger...
well...
    i did't feel like killing this large
specimen of mosquito... it wasn't going to
bite me...
never mind...
i didn't feel like merely killing it...
i caught it be one leg...

i have two spider twins either side
of the door to my garden...
one was sleeping...
the other was awake...
how did i know?
the sleeping one curled up its legs
into a bud...
it wasn't awake to play piano with
its cobweb...

        so i pinched this one mosquito
by the leg and watched it frenzied...
trying to escape... my hand led it to the altar...
how quick the spider! how quick
the spider made a mummy of the would:
juiced up mushy meat!
i didn't **** it...
i just fed a garden spider...
a catch it couldn't otherwise catch...

i felt indifferent... more indifferent about
vegans than vegans feel: "differentiated"
from debating the need for milk...
eggs... never mind the meat... cheese...
i don't understand veganism on these three pillars...
milk (cream)... eggs... cheese...
i couldn't be a vegan...

vegetarianism: i can understand...
but... no eggs?! no... milk / cream?!
no... cheese?!
        get out of 'ere!

       maggots swimming in sodium hypochlorite...
or rather... dying in it...
but the prettier sight than killing a bothersome mosquito
was feeding it to a spider...
it almost felt like...
   feeding a cat sushi turkey ******* on
the end of the knife...

this song has nothing to do with the experience:
chevalier, mult estes guariz...
none!
why do i abhor Darwinism...
it... doesn't tease my vanity...
it just kills off history!
from ape to "somehow": now...
that's it!
   **** similis: the ape was known to the ancients...
but the ancients did ancient "things"
and didn't allow themselves to be swallowed
up by a ******* comparison!
metaphor! they would have settled for
a metaphor... but not a comparison!
a synonymous-ness!

Darwinism is right: nature abhors vacuums...
nothing in nature is to be ever wasted...
everything has a purpose...
if... somehow... it doesn't have a purpose:
it will... it will evolve... it will adapt...
but... Darwinism as... the prime idea...
the one & only source of the genesis of
"idea"? only in the anglophone world...
no where else will you hear
Darwinism so celebrated...
Hermes asked... why did Galileo overshadow
the findings of Copernicus?!
why did even William Burroughs undermine
Copernicus by staging a "fact" that...
oh the ancient Egyptians knew!
the ancient Greeks knew too!
but... no mathematics...
then some pope-****-smear of a Galileo
was the one with the telescope
"probing": proving the heliocentric model
most adequate...

one spider whispered to another:
find any cobweb: piano concertos in the desert?
no... me neither...
let's just wait for some of these sand-*******...
camel-jockeys to catch up...
we'll show them... mummification:
hey presto!

- and they did... how quickly that spider
launched into the mosquito...
rapping it up like a... nothing to be
beside the futures of food-stuff...
it felt...
well... not ignoble... a pride in a sense
of hierarchy...
the spider easts the mosquito...
it's really levelled ground in the insect
dominion...
i allow maggots to swim in sodium
hypochlorite...
i catch a mosquito by its leg
and feed it to a spider...
the spider does the mummification
ritual... the world balances itself out...

it's a strange sensation: it's hardly a feeling...
one gets feelings on a graveyard...
count the bones...
wake up... re-wake...
the fickle faculty of memory:
so prone to amnesia...
i abhor dreams.... therefore i dream none...
less Freudian ******* shrapnel....
less & less...

i need a mirror to take a selfie...
i need... the apparition of 3D space...
you can't revise QWERTY!
you can't improve it!

i can type without looking down
at the keyboard: here's to imitating the Liszt...
the Chopin...

eh?!
i didn't cite:  E... did i?
i included the surd of breath...
EH?!

ask the ******* Hebrews why we have concern
to begin to laugh...:
it's trapped in their definite article:
HA! SANTA!

           i'm here for only one thing...
beside thrilling it alive in Thailand...
or... recovering fractures in Europe...
someone... maybe one... or two...
have... stolen my identity...
                  sorry...
             garlic pickled in some red wine
will always go under the radar...
electric six's album should never have:
gat bar! bay bar!

   it's the 1980s and sade...
smooth operator....
             best kept feeling...
feeding a mosquito to a spider
rather than simply killing it...
like... the inversed... imploded...
ploy of game...

who needs tiger blood?
bluff?
i need... a mosquito...
a spider... a spiderweb... like a piano...
i need an awake spider...
the red wine is not to be...
necessarily... mixed with garlic...
although last time i heard:
infusing ren wine with three or four
teeth of garlic (nuggets?)
is a slimming elixir...

father SLiM? *******... yacht...
bogus crew...
feeding a mosquito to a spider...
death soon arrives... "tomorrow".

- still need the geocentric model when
reading the map... hell:
i need the flat earth perspective when
reading a map... i don't really care much
for the equator, the Greenwich meridian
when getting from A to B...
funny how geographic "algebra" works...
from point A to point B:
a round earth doesn't really help...
perhaps if i were sailing but even then...
a straight line...

Darwinism didn't really undermine
man's final vanity... according to Freud...
nor did Freud undermine another vanity...
Freud & Jung created the divided schematic
of what once man:
i wouldn't say man was Leibniz's pristine
monad: something indivisible...
but it was close: to be divided by memory
fickle faculty:
how it dries up through the churn of
pedagogy... so much strain on learning
2 x 2 = 4... a, b, c, d, e... f, g, h...
fair enough: to later rearrange into words...
but i don't appreciate the classical alphabet...
the genius behind QWERTY...
i type without looking down at the keyboard...
it's almost like: imitation of reading braille...

maybe the alphabet should be less: a, b, c...
it's not like the vowels are at the beginning
while the consonants follow...
it just doesn't make sense:
rigid...
i wonder what would happen if children
were taught the QWERTY alphabet sequence...

or... just remember all the letters:
it doesn't matter in which order you remember them...
just remember that there are 26 letters in the English
alphabet...

- it's so pointless just killing  mosquito...
a fly... hardly...
but a mosquito... just at the right time
when it inserts its needle and become a syringe...
that's the sweetest of moment...
lord of the flies? who is the lord of mosquitos:
didn't ha-shem eat up all the lesser
gods of the Levant... but somehow avoided
gobbling up the lord of mosquitos?
i'm conjuring up a deity the Hebrew deity
didn't gobble up into his pantheon...

what name... what name?!
to challenge a name like... Beelzebub?
Be'el'zee'bub...
proper pronunciation with
the apostrophes: intra-verbum...
just so you know...
who: hoo! i'm getting hot from all the cider
and whiskey... god... i'm gagging for
some absinthe... the moon is ripe!
it's full...
     i need some slimming elixir...
some red wine infused with garlic...
to keep the vampires away...

what will i name you: lord of mosquitos...
KOMAR... mosquito in western Slavic...
Darwinism doesn't bug my vanity...
i.e. it doesn't bother me...
it bothers me that it's a history eraser...
nothing from yesterday here on in...
in the anglosphere...
the monkey: mammon key "happened":
an oops! ****! hey presto!
deluxe! no one grieves for Robespierre...
i might...
like i might for the wild imaginings of
the Marquis...
               if only... i prefer prostitutes to these...
"free"... masculine prototypes of... ahem... "women"...
once the woe... once the woo of man...
now?!
i prefer prostitutes...
no need for dating: plus... if they're Turkish...
they like a beard... a hairy chest... a hairy
stomach...

i'll push this dagger into that crux of:
et tu... so far so far as it can be harnessed
collectively that i'm... passionate about...
not angry... bitter... pickling my emotions...
there's a gherkin for a heart if anyone is
willing...

lord of mosquitos: raba'albaeud...
well, i could make that apostrophe disappear...
but i'd only replace it with a diacritical marker
above the A... to imply: "a.a."...
i.e. that there are two... Siamese vowels...
but it wouldn't help the pronunciation...
let's see...

raba'albaeud vs. rabālbaeud...
            eh?          ha ha... "no" difference!
so much for everyone being... "literate"...
they read like they might eat...
i've been told i eat in a way that...
invites other people to eat...
so much for others... dictating pleasures
unattainable...
i was a dinner once... with school friends...
i was the only one who asked for
rare beef... everyone else...
doubly butchered their wants...
they wanted them well done...
beef? well done?!
oh i'm a snob at that...
IT'S NOT MINCED BEEF!
YOU NEED... JUICE!

i kept my mouth shut and ate happy...
so much for friends...
i.e. "friends"... people you spend a lot of time together:
it works in a pedagogic environment...
school's great...
you are ***** into their presence...
you have to have... work-around tactics...
bullies... brutes... nerds... teenage mothers...

the full moon: while everything is attired in:
quicksilver...
the full moon: skin-head BISCUIT...
while everything is attired in quicksilver!

too many vowels... too many vowels...
raba'albaeud...
i "think" i'll rename him...
phonetically, though: ra'ba'alba'ood...
although there's an E & an U instead
of the omega...

Lithuanian: U'ODAS: ooh... not you...
i need bitter... twice bitter than an IPA
Czech absinthe...
i need to see straight... wonky too!
i need my tongue to be aflame!
i need teeth made from iron!

- history has become less linear than it used
to be... it has begot an ouroboros
of repeated... thanks to journalism:
history used to be linear...
time has reached a year 0...
but there's no revision taking place...
don't shoot the messenger!
i'm looking for the name of the lord
of mosquitos...

it's a hard name to conjure:
even though you have all the tongues in the world
available on the palette...
i need bitter... Czech absinthe...
i want to feel: hot... as rot...

Latvian: not Estonian... i.e.:
not sääsk (saaaask):               ODU...
主 / オモ (omo-odu)... that's clearly pushing it...
       オヅ
it would be so much simpler to just **** a mosquito
rather than... purposively...
feeding it to a spider...
i would "feel" much better killing it...
than having fed it to the spider...

Napoleon might have added:
sure... they're literate... but literacy only arrives
as useful when the literate are bilingual...
what use do i have for these people
distract by letters...
what use for the priestly class...
since... their safeguard is... "missing"?

sweet amber... whether beer: gods' juices...
or simply... mead...
from the work around of Hephaestus....
safeguard these names of the gods...
before they disappear...
before the Czech absinthe becomes too
bitter... still drinkable... but hardly enjoyed...

"too many vowels"... the "argument" follows
suite... i'm red... hot... chilly-esque...
chasing zeppelins... chasing diacritic markers...
covert: how you might say:
SPIERDALAJ: DALAI LAMA....
  ARES... his son...
                  Hephaestus....

             while i'm burning!

                         pronoun verb
custard: ich arbeit...
all the nouns the world might allow...

butterfass...
                   i'm itching to pass by:
butterfaß.... consonants ought to have...
better... phonetic encoding symbols...
like TH and PH have to encapsulate F...

who needs buTTer when one Tao might
have... MITE vs. miGHT?!
two consonants coupled...
not another night in Posen...
please... not another night in Posen...

chasing
i don't want to be English so much....
too many troubles...
too many fictions...
i want to be inherently "biased"...
too many frictions...
  too many fictions...
chasing  Zeppelin....
     ditto: base... the Warsaw "boat":
about to... sink.
Bryce Jul 2018
Amid the verbose magicians
Seeking kinships
And sailing deep into their arduous mists
Watching them peddle their afternoon
To a handful of smiling children holding their breath
Amazed in gentle body trick

The older men of age
Leaning deep into their creased chins
Stroking the grizzled fat
Blinding light of soul
Staring down the barrel of life
Striking the enemy one last time
And yet smiling
sober,
Met of match,
taking care of their kids.

Then there's the cold-clocked dudes
On the phone pushing buttons
In a button-up raglan
Lost indistinct
the promised land
The golden shores swept away by
inconvenient time
Left shopping in an auto mall
"Won't you look at the time?"
7.07 APR
Boy what a steal!
And Steve maddened and screamed
As the lines blurred instinctual between opposing teams
And the oven dinged a great alabaster slant
Leaning towards the new millenitants

Rise up!
***** the wheel
Turn the axel from pistons
To alkaline metal
And doubt with great monumental
Quality
That the machine borders all
And we cannot retreat

And while I sift bouyantly between the waves
Searching the puzzle piece within the molecules
Reconnecting with the things
And representing
dreams on a 66 hertz screen
I call rather failing
Towards a black rocked shore
Towards the sweet Dorigen
Of my dreams
Finding an integral of time
And space

And calculating the intangible *****
Of my desmise
With the imaginary constiutent
Of that lighted mind.
He paints his ashtray
alkaline blue,
a petty tip-of-the-hat to
harbingers of evil,
men between men and
women sitting aside,
head bobbed
in embarrassment.

What have we become which
normalized gestures do not
puncture?

His alkaline blue ashtray
trading dust for roach buds
and where is he off to,
brain sorting sentiment with
barred numbers, statistics,
inaccessible phenomena.
Pains to say most often he is
wandering in the wings
flapping for attention.

How humanity must suffer
in the name of
self-effacement.

He and his
alkaline blue ashtray
skitter across the landscape
(a da Vinci,
a Mona Lisa)
again in apathy to watch
petty tip-of-the-hat prisoners
wag thumbs and call
each other names.

In the end of things,
reason does not prevail.

The dust is all.
VioletNova Jan 2013
We have always been bigger...
than stars.
The sky a stage
spoken intimacies
of velvet hearts
and ***** hands.

I wander the comet of
truth with moon-filled
eyes. Waiting, bow-shaped.

I couldn't help but notice
those constellations were
made for sin.

Stealing glances of
tightened skin too explosive
to retract.

Tiny pools of passing rain
drag an ellipsis around my tongue.

And from this side of Babel
light glares inside
sprouting roots.

Silver Cerulean Decembers
bundle themselves
winter by winter.

Cloaked by the tree,
a heaven of insistence and glass.

Words falling weightless-
sun bleached leaves
into palms of hands.

Glimmering abyss of
infinite ice, fractured bloodless
upon starless earth.

Saliva brushed shock
Alkaline flesh-
on napkins that
hold, what they
have forgotten.

Avoidable words
that keep us fed...
back to my chamber heart.

Every single time.
when swimming with dolphins
lost phase, depth of oceans

recurrence of persuasion
the cavities erosion
a pragmatic extension, the neural hyper tension

grace the evening
split precision aching
remedies for aging



repetition
of the alkaline waste
V.B. Wigglesworth wakes at noon,
Washes, shaves and very soon
Is at the lab; he reads his mail,
Swings a tadpole by the tail,
Undoes his coat, removes his hat,

Dips a spider in a vat
Of alkaline, phones the press,
Tells them he is F.R.S.,
Subdivides six protocells,
Kills a rat by ringing bells,

Writes a treatise, edits two
Symposia on "Will man do?,"
Gives a lecture, audits three,
Has the ***** club in for tea,
Pensions off an ageing spore,

Cracks a test tube, takes some pure
Science and applies it, finds,
His hat, adjusts it, pulls the blinds,
Instructs the jellyfish to spawn,
And, by one o'clock, is gone.
Nigel Thornberry May 2015
Dear Battery,
Enough of your Flattery!
You power mere toys,
You are only used by little fuckboys.

But a Lock is a dads tool!
If you disagree you are a fool.
You do not understand Dad jokes even!
You are just a Un-dank Bush wannabe named Steven.

You are best to be leavin' Steven!
Because The 9 Volts are aimin',
To Give you a taste of their dankness,
You best run far and run fast!
Because their going to Shrek you,
Back to the Holocaust.
If you liked this poem then please like,comment, and subscribe. and if you didn't then *******. Then like,comment, and subscribe.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
all that's audible is a bumping into:
  **** me... i hope that isn't a giraffe
or a london singleton, female: "looking"
but a chair...
       and the rest of my narrative became
sorta blurry...
i hope i bumped into a chair rather than a
giraffe...
funny thing, this would be model
started chirpsing (scottish term for flirting)
with me... allowing me the role of santa claus
sitting on my legs in a bar...
a day before this south african ***** "*****"
me without **** juices...
        like cedric the saxon conquering
the isles...
- thing is... i can understand the scots...
the other gaelic tribes... the irish?
i can't tell a doberman from a rottweiler;
i don't like them, and i'm not even english.
the **** are they on?
                  well, tango in the dark...
is it a chair? is it a giraffe?!
                      i thank god for the fact that
i can experience this sort of joke
   and not bother raising a family, in accordance
with the sage of Königsberg...
            really "strange" things happens when you
enjoy drinking, up to the point where
   you're laughing over robbie williams' videos
in the afternoon, and say: ******* day!
and try, i mean, torture yourself, utilise
the iron maiden to get laughs out of women...
ellen degeneres (e.g.) - i tried, i really, really tried
laughing at the jokes...
                                    robbie's dead and i'm
consecrating a prayer on his grave, like people
congregating in cultish fashion over the grave of
jim morrison in paris... hell! i'm trying!
don't put my ******* in the monkey-wrench!
            i need to feed the ego-go-go!
              what ******* ****** you looking at?
your cousin?
                            i know my cousins are retarted:
like i already said: they tried to **** me so many
times due to my Chernobyll tattoo i starting to ask:
this really is a foetus contra.
                             or what you teach your colt...
unless she calls you up and says: i think i'm pregnant...
oi! descartes! i think therefore i doubt...
doubt being the emotional content precipitating
into             i am, therefore... wha?!
            maybe it's just like they said: women aren't
*****...
                           i really really tried to laugh
at ellen degeneres jokes...
       hmm...                     i realised i wasn't constipated
having eaten almost nothing on the day...
i fancied a hoi sin fajita (fa-he-tah... not a fa-jee-tah)
         wrap of duck from the supermarket...
         but i really though i was constipated...
sat on the throne of thrones expecting a ****...
       all i "plopped" out was alkaline lemonade...
          but **** me can the chinese butcher the duck
properly...
                             the sort of atheists i believe in:
a. they'll eat anything                   and
    b. they don't believe any other species exists apart
            from them.
c.? the ******* bit that adds to an advantage?
                    men take joy from work, women take
joy from ***... it's not that ******* difficult...
                            the chinese can really butcher a duck...
hoi sin duck... it's like bbq sauce...
                                      eating cat treats instead of
haribo... i want to keep my teeth like
those skeletal excavations from the iron age
          in the alps...
                                but ****! i really want to laugh
at a joke a women tells... whether on the concrete savannah
of the urban environment... or stand-up on stage!
i really want to!
                            i really can't! is that sad?
a women telling a joke is like a woman in her
late teens asking a man in his early twenties about
how to fry a pancake!
               and it's happened to me! i had to tell these
teen women how to fry a pancake...
               they tried frying about five, and all of them
ended up being burned... and i just said:
    you have to add oil to the goo-dough... and then
add oil to the frying pan...
           what has fat-free yogurt done to these women?!
you can't find yourself your body expecting
pseudo-sugars all the time! you need fat!
                           oh this is in privy...
                   ever ****** off a pregnant woman showcasing
her ****? pinching her *******... ENLARGED...
                and: if i were married, i'd ask my woman:
can i suckle on that too? i don't want the baby to
get in the way with our love life...
             it's like this cult of the north north
in the antonio banderas the 13th warrior...
                        cult of the pregnant woman? something
the neo-pagans carve into stone, rather than
the classical pagans with phallus etched into wood...
       i really did watch a pregnant woman tease...
   i just felt like rubbing the ******* ("luxury")
                         and looking at her teasing me
with her extra-large *******...
                biology would state: imagine the foetus!
imagine the foetus! look at her enlarge "stomach"!
i thought we were pro-feminism?!
                     a pregnant woman doesn't get you
bullish ready for a torero?
                                i'm single and i'm about to
fiddle with a pregnant woman!
                                   and she's all the more ready
given she's posting videos on the internet
with her head decapitated from view...
                 i mean: a pregnant woman is not
the high-tide of *******, among other things?!
              i hate being an eroto-maniac, but given i
am drinking and walked in the dark and
                           though i bumped into a giraffe,
that was actually a chair...
                        what else? trying to find a woman
stand-up comedian funny?
         a pregnant woman playing with her *******
and imagining ******* at her ******* when the milk
comes to rekindle the *** prior child...
   it's easier to get a hard-on from that:
than a laugh from a woman doing stand-up comedy.
Carlo C Gomez Apr 2022
~
Corrosive elevation
Metabolic creation
At the mouth of cough drop falls
Trails of caustic, nomadic influence:
Coffee lips
Decaffeinated tongue
Resealable groove
Reusable embryo
White hunter
Melt snow
Hang fire
Black crow

Mechanical peak
Summit on a stick
Chiseled grey
The smoke ascending
They call "day"
Lovely shade of sadness, this
Wandering endocarp
Hidden in caves, hollows, crags, cellars, and cisterns
It came naked
From out of the acrid woods
And said

"The locust are upon us..."
~
complexity
is your beauty
simplicity
your mystery
interdependence
sustains you

once upon a time
we dipped bowls
into your waters
and brought up
draughts of life

now
Skipjacks go
fathoms deep
into endless
depletion

charting
entangled
dead zones
broadening
into a sea of
inertness

your delicate
eco-essence tips
toward oblivion

effluvia farmers
layer mechanized
blankets of
nitrates on your
sunset shores
weaving
green tendrils
of algae blooms
strangling the
entanglements
of all links in
your miraculous
food chain

the EPA
proscribes
a Jenny Craig
pollution diet
to halt the
slaughter in
oxygen
challenged
dead zones
where rockfish
are garroted,
oysters get drilled
by screwworms
and azure tinted
soft shell *****
dance soft
shoe taps
lifting a tinny
chorus of sad
Piedmont Blues

the flat-lining
watersheds
voiceless
warnings
tremble
rocking the
purged nests of
screaming ospreys
in vocal protest
of a sinking
Tangier Isle
anointing it’s
tombstones
of unvisited
cemeteries with
multicolored
guano

fitting
alkaline
tributes
to the lost
inhabitants
and forgotten
languages
sinking into the
brine of gray
brackish tides

Delmarva’s fine
intra-continental
balance skewed
by the oozing
industrial swill
of Frank Perdue
chicken farms
ruling the roost of
sanctioned sustainability
tinging clear watersheds
of finger lakes
set in splints to
repair dislocations
and complex
compound fractures
that may never heal
again

Music Selection:
Taj Mahal: Fishin Blues

jbm
Oakland
6/7/12
Phil Midnight Feb 2011
Watching the leaves cascade accross the pond,
All the while remembering the wrong we've done.
The only irony in our agony being that of your lies of love.
This door of opportunity abruptly slammed in my face.
Now to just wait for another to open in its place.

I feel the sympathy of your cold razor's edge.
A little stab at her favorite band.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
you see it...
the Cartesian pH scale...

i think
             the acidic               concerning
       evil thoughts

and

i am
         the alkaline                 concerning
evil action...
                          sketching mezzo in Spain...

but still so much resides in people
expressing da- -denken,
no fallacy with that,
to express thinking you're there
is no fallacy, there's no wrong with that,
being there is a fake,
Heidegger spoke of plagiarism,
rightly he's a magician, a quick hand,
a droplet of Mercury -

sometimes music overpowers,
there's no music, only meaning, after all,
aren't we to decipher our encoding?

philosophy has no access to music,
it can't enter the realm of syllables, or alphabetical
units, its limit is reasoning and meaning,
it cannot perform autopsy on words,
for philosophy words are cursors, vectors,
it cannot dissect words toward syllables
and units of sound, it relies on compounds
ending with a -logy-, pristine ~arithmetic ...

the therefore sequencing
akin to 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 4 can be discarded,
acceptable the Newtonian causality
and the mishmash loss of vector, of Einstein's paralleling
for the parabola, or vacuum dipping...

we are concerned with therefore acting as
a multi-facet mathematical function,
with two algebraic modes of expression -
as much bewilderment entombs Newton's theories
as much bewilderment entombs a serial killer's actions...
acidic or alkali are expressions of pigmentation
or activity, yet when encompassed within
pH scaling, non-differential...

in that so many concerns enter the verb thought
(verb - activity of expressing it) that thought per se
excludes nouns to revel in pristine form...
what basis is there for nouns if not automation
rubrics that are settled for a rekindled encounter?
if thinking is an activity, it turns the animate thing
into an inanimate thing, a philosopher's stone
away from peculiar assortment -
and when god seized walking freely,
he turned into a stone, apathetically accepting
monotheistic prayers - once an animate thing,
chained into inanimate enthroning.

what is the prime category of words utilised
in thinking, should no narrative schematic be utilised?
we all know the cognitive schematic narrative,
in fear of linguistic bombardment
that provides puzzles from syllables and
eyed-encoding shapes such as mm or dentistry's
A having cut out the tongue.

but the Cartesian balance - being does not
prove thinking, and thinking does not prove being -
better that unsolved than perpetually
exhausting the argument of being via beings sacrificed
to enshrine a memory - lesser concern
for the thought that spurned others to think
a similar complication, via allowance of the leisurely
timing worth consuming -
with the former a gas chamber, with the latter
a library - there is still a scaling,
not necessarily attributing acidity or alkaline superstition...
_______________­____________________­________
                                     ­  Δ
on topic of pivots and Archimedes.
“That next January, she will be considered cured! These are words we never expected to hear, especially since her first oncologist told her she had little chance of surviving...”
“In 2001 my wife was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Because of poor health, I had only been able to work occasionally and we were very low on financial funds. Also we did not have insurance. We tried to get assistance, but were turned down everywhere we went.
We got a recommendation from an employee at a clinic to try the department of children and family services, adult division, for our state. But again the door was closed on us.
At this point, things got so bad we had to do our grocery shopping at a railroad salvage store. My greatest fear was that after my wife finished her chemo and radiation the medicines she would need would not be anything we could afford. Someone told me about alternative medicine and that it is used around the world, but that most doctors frown on this practice.
We started researching the internet for anything that would help and be something we could afford. When my wife was diagnosed with cancer, the doctor used a CA125 blood test. The doctor told us that a count under 35 is acceptable.
My wife's count was “365” confirming the cancer.
My wife has NOT has not had ANY form of medication for her cancer! The “ONLY” thing she is using is Apricot Seeds or Kernels.
Her last CA125 test was taken 9 days ago and her count was at “10”, well below the established number of 35. No one can tell us that the Apricot Seeds are not doing even more then we had hoped for on her.
Last doctor's visit, the doctor told my wife that if she had made it past the first 2 years without problems, she was now in a group that has less than a 10% chance of reoccurrence and that next January, she will be considered cured!
These are words we never expected to hear, especially since her first oncologist told her she had little chance of surviving.”
Dorothy & Robert Halun
Lakeland, FL




WEB: "My doctor said if I did not have the scars on my body they could never prove that I had Cancer. It's all because I took Raw Apricot Kernels..."
I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in 2001. The first oncologist told me the tumor was too large to operate and that he must shrink the tumor through chemo prior to surgery.
He said that if I would have come to him a couple of years earlier that it would be an automatic death sentence, however, he had this new protocol - Stem Cell Therapy - which could save my live at a cost of about $100,000 more than what my insurance would pay...I got a second opinion.
My 2nd oncologist, after pondering the proposed surgery for the weekend said that even though the tumor was large, he thought he could do the surgery prior to starting chemo. I started researching my options.
After surgery, I REFUSED CHEMOTHERAPY AND RADIATION. My doctor said I would die if I did not at least to Chemo. I told him "My life, my decision...if I am wrong in a year, I will listen to you then".
When my one year CA125 test was taken, I was a perfect 10. My doctor said if I did not have the scars on my body they could never prove that I had Cancer. It's all because I took Raw Apricot Kernels (6 per day). I am now cancer free for 5 years and counting.
Babette Garfield, Age 57
Las Vegas, NV



“I learned about Amygdalin (B17) and started taking it right away and all of my symptoms began to regress...”
“I have been dealing with Indolent Lymphoma since 1996. I knew I was pretty much on my own with this. About 5 years ago, I learned about Amygdalin (B17) and started taking it right away and all of my symptoms began to regress.
If I am stupid and eat sugar or stuff I shouldn't, I begin to get my symptoms back, but as soon as I tighten up my diet, they go away. I have a lot of energy now and I am starting a new business and I am 61. I used to be exhausted but no more.
I am very grateful for Amygdalin (B17) and the Apricot Seeds.”
Nancy Pratt, Age 61
Montclair, VA


“GET PEOPLE TO TRY THIS - it works…”
Here is my testimonial.
Let me begin by saying I am not affiliated in any way with this product I am suggesting you try. I have bought it & used it myself on several (really severe) sun spots/skin lesions with total & successful removal with consistent use. I thought for sure I would have to go to a surgeon, but bought this cream instead. The first one I removed was on my leg, I had watched it getting bigger for a couple of years. It was pretty deep, too. It was a bit uncomfortable at first after I applied the cream but then it began to work.
I next removed one on my left shoulder that had become quite large as well. I then used it on one near my left temple. It was one of those big brown lesions you see on old people. It took a bit longer. It had to be gently peeled off a couple of times, but then one day, the last layer came right off. I also got rid of 2 smaller ones on my face & a really bad one on my right ear.
You have to be consistent. Apply it ONLY to the spot a couple of times a day in the beginning. The area will get a bit red, sometimes it gets itchy, but that means it is working. Eventually you will be able to cut it back to once a day. Every couple days put a dab of antibacterial cream on it. After about a week or so, you should be able to gently start peeling off a little bit at a time and then when the final layer comes off it will be just healthy skin underneath.
- Nanci


“She has been CANCER FREE for 6 years…
“6 years ago we noticed that our 100lb Golden Retriever, Cassie, had a tumor on her back paw. The vet suggested that we have them remove the tumor and have it analyzed. Thus, St Pat's day 2000 Cassie had the operation. All went well. When we got the results back, they said it was a mast cell tumor type 2. They recommended chemotherapy. Knowing that God made provision for Noah and the animals, we prayed and felt that the Lord was directing us in a different way.
First, we checked the dog food we were giving her. We found that Sci Diet had carcinogens in it. We studied and switched to Innova, a natural dog food. We also recently had heard from the Christian Brothers about raw apricot seeds and their properties that would help the body fight cancer.

We also started giving Cassie Barley Green, a powdered barley leaf that would help make her body alkaline. Cancer can not exist in an alkaline environment. Twice a day we would give Cassie her seeds etc. Her paw healed nicely and the vet was pleasantly surprised. Then, as each year Cassie would go for her spring check up the vet would say how lucky we were. We would usually agree we are blessed.
Cassie had one other small tumor removed from her back about 2 years ago. It was not cancerous. She has been CANCER FREE for 6 years. As you can tell from her picture, she has gotten the raccoon look around her eyes as she has aged. Yet, she still likes to play.
We give credit for her long healthy life from Jesus directing all of our steps-in changes in food, supplements, exercise and B17. Thank you for making your products available.”
Karen Olsen
Elmhurst, IL





“This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful...
“Hi, my name is Tina Brock and my mother Fanida Caudelle (Faye) has battled cancer for a long time. Twelve years ago she had breast cancer. In 2004 she was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. She took chemo and the cancer stayed away for a year. It came back in her spleen, abdomen, and pelvic areas. This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful. I began researching and found B-17. Thank God! I ordered her a bottle and she took it while taking the chemo and we were all impressed with how well her blood counts were each time. She is still using B-17 today and February 14, 2006 my mom turned 74 years old. I would like to thank you for making B-17 available.”
Fanida Caudelle, Age 74
Nicholson, Georgia





“Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned…
“I have been using Apricot Seeds for a little more than 2 years and believe they have made a big difference in my health. Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned.
I continue to take the apricot seeds every day and believe they along with whole grains, fruits, vegetables, avoiding red meat and seafood without fins and scales, and eating as organically as possible is responsible for the change in my body.
Edgar Casey had a vision of what he believed were almonds and that they prevented cancer. I believe Casey actually saw apricot seeds and mistook them for almonds because they look similar.”
Carol Loguisto
Nassau, New York




“I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God...
“In 2004 I went to my Dr. and had skin cancer removed from my face and back. The cancer on my face was determined to be basil cell but the one on my back came out to be melonomia. Since that time they have returned and the Dr. wanted to do more removal but I decided to try natural remedies.
In September of 2005 I found information about Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17. I started eating the seed and taking Vitamin B17. The cancer on my face was red and sore but today the redness is gone and also the soreness.
The most remarkable part is the melonomia on my back is getting smaller. Once I decided to use Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17, I also started reading my Bible more and using the Bible versed that were given me. My health has improved and my worries about cancer were given to God.
I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God.”
Fred Davidson, Age 62
Independence, MO


“The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results…
“I have used the seeds as a preventive for a few years and never have had any side affects. My mother-in-law was diagnosed with colon cancer the size of a grapefruit. A few months and less than $500 dollars worth of seeds and pills and it was reduced to a small mass the size of a grape.
The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results. Read the book "World Without Cancer" so you don't have to watch your loved ones die in vain.”
Steve Strasburg
Arkport, NY
“I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life…
“My sister had been diagnosed with Thyroid cancer last year. I immediately started her on 500 mg of B-17 twice a day. She had her thyroid removed, as it was aggressive, and fast moving. The Endocrinologist were amazed that that there was NO spreading to the neighboring lymphatic system as is usually the case.
I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life.”
Patrick Harris-Worthington
Minneapolis, MN





“The doctors don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17…”
“In 2004 I contracted liver cancer. My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. I had been taking all the right healthy vitamins and eating right and now "cancer". When we were told there were NO guarantees that the chemo would work, my wife and I decided to try the B-17!
It was scary because we were not sure of how much to take on a daily basis but started with 100mg 2xday. We worked up to 500mg 2xday for about 5 months and then down to 100mg 2xday at present. I did take zinc and B-12 for 2 weeks before starting the B-17.
The cancer mass went from a 8cm to 6cm in less than a yr. It did not spread and it had shrunk. The drs. don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17. My blood tests came back "normal" last month and all the friends and family are amazed and we are happy.
PS...the dr. called and gave us a phone # of a girl who was suffering as I was and could we call her and tell her what we did? My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. So, we did and she is now starting her regiment...”
Dennis Montgomery
Arcadia, CA

“I finally talked him into B17. He did however try it and was doing much better then with the chemo…”
“I lost my husband 10 months ago to cancer. He chose to take the doctors advice and have chemotherapy and radiation for his cancer which started in his colon and ******. Needless to say after 2 and 1/2 years of treatment he lost his fight with cancer.
When he died it was in his liver, lungs and stomach. It was too late when I finally talked him into B17. He did however try it and was doing much better then with the chemo. Although he lost his fight his cancer was just too far advanced to stop or prolong his life.
I have been on B17 since his death and will continue to stay on it for the rest of my life. I am doing it to prevent cancer because my father also died with colon cancer and it has been known to travel in families. I am cancer free and hope to remain that way that is why I choose to take B17.
I am 49 years old and I tell everyone that will listen that the chemotherapy and radiation killed my husband, not the cancer. It was his life and I had to respect his decision to... “
Gloria Snow-Lambert
Mercer, PA


"I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago. I went through some Chemo and Radiation treatments...
I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago. I went through some Chemo and Radiation treatments. I began researching cancer and alternative treatments and found a website on apricot seeds and B17.
I remember hearing about this being a possible cure for cancer many years ago, but had not heard any studies since then. I thank the Lord that I found this site. I have been taking the apricot seeds ever since I found out about them.
I started taking tamoxifen about a year ago and recently stopped due to the toxic effects it has on the body. I continue to take the apricot seeds and so far all is well.
I tell everyone I come in contact with who has had or has cancer about them. Thank you, thank you for making them available to purchase and at reasonable prices! I will be taking them for the rest of my life.
Carol Richards
Pittsburgh, PA
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
i'm slowly figuring out how it works...
"content creators" always boast about their number
of members... but? rarely...
their viewership counts ever match
to their number of members...
rarely... they might have a membership
count of 200K but their videos probably
mean at about 70K... it's a game of give and take...

me? hmm... well... me...
    one website? 142 "members"...
         another website 181 "members"...
i'm always happy when i exceed my "membership":
when writing i always aim at that: exceeding...
with 181 "members" i managed to accumulate
a viewership of... nearing to 50,000...
not bad... that's how Pythagoras and Jesus achieved
their fame... start little: grow big...
out of? well... the natural worth of your worth...

i was just re-watching Jurassic Park today...
hold hold... in between cleaning the house...
hold hold...
how the **** is man certain of his own
psychology and socio-political dynamism
while at the same time so ******* certain
about the ontology of dinosaurs?!
fossils read: the T-Rex is movement sensitive?!
so... he... can't smell you?
let alone see you when you don't move?!
for ****'s sake! the Shakespeare of cinema!
Spielberg! *******!
              
i recently watched an advert: it's true:
you taste food by sniffing it...
i can quickly drink a diluted bottle of black cherry
squash... i taste nothing:
because i'm glug glug glug
drinking it... i refrain from drinking i start sniffing:
it's like my nose dives into the oesophagus
and retracts what i was just drinking:

you sure it wasn't some strong salt (alkaline)
or some... sugar? are acids sugars?!
well if there's a corrosive salt...
shouldn't the antonym be: a strong sugar?
aren't acids really strong sugars?
citric... yeah... they are...
strong acids are sugars as strong....
****... strong sugars are acids
and strong salts are alkaline...
                        BOZO WATER BOY...
d'uh!
        get out y'er spazz-mr.fantastic-face-douzoh...

how?! reading ******* fossils?!
FAKE NEWS... wait for the rumble... wait...
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.... FAKE HISTORY...
from what? reading fossils?! we knew how
dinosaurs behaved?
                             wow! oh! ah ha ha ha ha!
wow! the selling gimmick in full shwing!
boys! girls! we don't need the swings!
just listen to these ******* try to sell you toilet paper!
seriously...
and for a while i was like:
oh yes yes... that's how dinosaurs behaved...
from a flimsy ******* film with by the current
year: ever more ****** CGI...

                oh man... the velociraptor was a wolf
of its species... sure... now all the dinosaurs are birds...
morphed into birds... birds are small...
dinosaurs were big...
hmm... what's smaller than birds?
insects... ergo?
there must have been a kind of animal
akin to insects that lived prior to dinosaurs that
were also large... ******* gigantic
morphs of mosquitos...
if the dinosaurs adapted to become birds...
although: spies! spies i tell you!
spies! snakes and crocodiles!
rationality makes no sense given enough time...
best aim for ice-cream and brain-freeze...
seriously... **** it...
it's not like anyone is going to remember this
century like any other century given
the time expanse we've allowed ourselves to give!

what i am curious about though is...
DRAGONS...
right... it was inbuilt into our psyche to conjure
dragons: long before we unearthed
fossils of dinosaurs...
dragons... fire breathing creatures...
what killed the dinosaurs?
the day the moon went to sleep or was like:
**** it... have to keep the tides...
might as well get rid of these gigantic Goliath-Nimrods...
eh... i'm sure something stupider and more
entertaining will take their place...
BAM! fire! a meteor hit the earth: lizards breathing
fire... DRAGONS... how do we know this?
is this dream-talk? do people dream-up this
*******? me? i don't dream-up ****... i just sleep...
i admire the people who can fall asleep
in transit: on a bus or on a plane...
me? i'm bothered by the imaginary fidget-bugs
of keeping composure and pretending
to allocate time to my mind as i measure
mental minutes to actual mechanised minutes
of a clock... i always get it WONG... revelations
of lost vibrations... esp. in flight...

where do these anti-history i.e. pre-history stories
come from? fossils? ******* dinosaur fossils?!
we know how a certain type of dinosaur
behaved based on their ******* fossils?
wow! we should dig up Elizabeth Bathory
and Cleopatra and tell apart which bathed in milk
and which in ****** blood... i'd... FFFFFFucking love
to know how fossils tell which apart!

it's just ******* silly... i'm semi-drunk semi-sober
i'm bordering on arrogance: clearly mad...
because... this... gradual increment of a collective narrative
that was supposed to be soothing?
isn't soothing anymore...
                  i'm turning my mind toward solipsism...
not unlike an actual medical claim of autism:
but as a theoretical: only i exist...
whoever i encounter?
inauthenticity... actors...
                 people of shallow depth...
after all... what's the most popular artistic expression
in our society? isn't it, acting?! it's not painting...
it's not poetry... ergo?
     fake... fake...           oh: more fake.... fake...
actors have become brutal in the dealings of
every man in how he or she might interact with
fellow ever man or woman...
absolutely brutal: tyrannical!

that's how i saw it: the devil ascending: monarchy...
a god descending: tyranny...
there is a clarifying distinction that can be
summarised by the continued existence of England...
a country my heart is enthralled by...
and forever will be...

yeah... sure sure... looking up the gorilla's *******
to figure out our ontology... great!
it's not like we didn't have sages in the past...
it's beyond "god is dead": "jesus is dead":
it's already a common name in Spain...
hey-zeus... Darwinism won like the Copernican revolution
never envisioned it: after all...
Galileo robbed Copernicus of his discovery
because he had the telescope and became the martyr...

with one swift move: a god died and the gods
were reborn...
but jesus is dead too...
why? who's imitating him?
Darwinism teaches the universality of imitation-monkey!
imitation-lobster imitation-ant!
no? isn't that what the secular psychologists are
preaching?! "evolutionary psychologists"?!
evolutionary: partially... there's still no concensus
on "soul": i.e. sigma: the totality of what's being...
not ontology: i.e. being qua...
rather what's "motivating" being: what's WILL...
the ****** of existence per se...

no no... i can't think of existence as merely summarised
as simply: "experience"...
we don't know how dinosaurs behaved...
it's POP CULTURE ****...
we don't know! we will never know!
i hate living in this fantasy world...
really? a meteor killed them off?
a freak accident... but i thought the moon was
the shield against all other meteors...
and most meteors burn out when reaching our
atmosphere...

listen... the Biblical strand of the story is: POETIC...
it's simplified...
it's like... journalism on an everyday basis:
the difference being: it's repeated day in day out...
it's journalism of a Groundhog Day...
i admit: pretty **** ******...
but the secular aversion to this?
             mein gott... when it's right... akin to chemistry,
biology, physics, medicine and engineering...
fair enough... grounded in reality...
but when these disciplines becomes... "humanised"...
all hell breaks loose!
did i forget geology? oops...
            these are disciplines of the demigods!
they are not to be trivialised!
made into narratives! they are strict rubric sentiments
of complimenting chaos with man's ingenuity
of crafting a sense of order!

yeah: wow me... 181 "members" that morphs
into an audience of reaching 50,000...
unlike those video guys with 50,000 members
and an average of half of those members switching
off... with some roundabout clued-in *******
****-jobs...
the revised ingenuity of internet anonymity:
oh sure sure... i'll just buy a book and leave
a comment in the comment section
of the book's back pages that no one:
esp. the author is going to read...
                          title: make your own mind up!
i'm alone: you're alone, we're all alone
in this ****-wit buggery of all sorts!
Jett Bleue Apr 2013
We’re gathered here today to put to rest the words I didn’t mean to say.
The thoughts I tried my best to suppress, but slipped out anyway.
Delivering meanings that I didn’t have planned,
And messages she just can’t understand.

My acid tongue throws out its poisonous whispers into her ear, containing words she was never meant to hear.
But she cancels them out with her alkaline replies that don’t align with mine.
She’s the one who starts this game every time.
Throwing in the truths that bring me shame,
But when I claw out her flaws from beneath the dirt out onto the surface,
They impregnate her hazel eyes with rain.
And I’m always the one to get the blame.

I check the weather where she is to know if she can see the dark clouds leaving,
Unveiling the blue skies that lie beneath.
Hoping that one day she will open her hazel eyes and realise we’ve been through wet and dry seasons that continue to replay like groundhog day.
But all we can do is keep believing that there is a reason why we can’t let the storms blow it all away,
Just because of the words I didn’t mean to say.
spacedrunk Oct 2016
beat the feeling out of any pottery shards
i was born outside of myself
i still want to kiss you past three layers of bad pill head
my feet have frozen into life and i can hear the news playing from inside a tree
lunar mare and whiskey are the same, when you've blurred enough
maybe something that is made beautiful is not made to be loved
but there's no medicine, you know the cure
murari sinha Sep 2010
1
the goose is putting signature
on the plume detaching from its tail

the queue is overflowed with crowd

groping in the memory of the gathering people
so many safety pins and cello-tapes
are found  

on the shoulders of some wayfarers
there is the stammering cold

2.
the body-language of the moon
is being so changed

the enthusiastic may test

blood came down
when the tap is on

and sweat

now birds from siberia
are flowing in through the disc antenna

the dravidian air is ever changing

now none can get ruined
following all the grammar

3.
the sole hunger of the winter
is being noted down in the note book
covered with human-skin

the clouds of the summer and the rainy season
are salivating

the garrulous spiders are detaching the shells
of the dead deer and putting the gardens in the iron-chest

throwing dry leaves to shoo away the coke
oh, the sleeveless palms
are all the new girl-friends ok

4.
putting on the rain-coat to save the skin
or it’s an armour
is your body safe
fireworks are twinkling
piercing
the fire-brigade has gone to a joyful journey with the clouds
admit the charisma of the bathroom
you the adult buffalo
don’t forget to tell
the experienced cormorants have  flown in from the marshland

5.
diving in search of kisses
I saw all are stings
even the wicker tray with the articles of ceremonial reception  
can’t escape bite
would you be clean
oh engrossed abir
so many flakes of snow on the branches of the guava tree
the festival is in your teeth  also
tame your blood
don’t submerge the river into the waves
and there is the sky
beg a rail  


6.
I pierced the clouds with my fore-finger
And the blood-stain touches my body
the wind which makes the doors and windows
open to public view I can’t stare at its eyes
I push the storm towards the yellow-leaves

7.
sometimes the river calls
as if she will fly like the winged horse
if she be let loosed
where  does she keep the sadness of her placenta
there is no flower-vase
the glass is good enough
though the lover glass has broken with the first kiss
the grass with aromatic roots trembles in the breeze from the candid wings  
the orna flies tearing the caterpillar
would you let your  salted water be wasted

8.
beside the comb there is hair
Is it soft green or the alkaline
How much relevant is that information
Rowing through which water the endemic comes
The afternoon-cloud giggled took permission and went home
bringing an end to today’s play
the unwashed plates after eating are placed on the basin
the night-cigarette goes burning in the mouth of air
on the coughs and expectoration floats the lost mast  

9.
the sands are shy to the extreme
They don’t loot anything
The bricks have much intimacy with the wild creepers
All the komonduls and lances  turned backward
Now you may easily spread your wet cloth in the air
One roof would have dialogues with another in the lost afternoon
One window have eye-sharing with the another

10.
there is the laugh
100% natural
Beauty is written on the eyebrows
that is also a game
new cloths at the time of puja
that is also an addiction
a hidden bunglow
under the tongue
no information of death
a postmodern text
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
i wish i were a chemist,
so that i could hypothesize
& limit my attempts &
my experiments in futility

so that maybe, I could
tell you that your mere
presence was a catalyst
to my volatile elements

provoking reactions,
left & right, endless
explosions in my head
& mostly, in my chest

or that you tasted like a
antidote to the mundane
bringing me back from
this quiet complacence

i could drink your tonic,
swallow your smoke,
& devour your scraps
like a starving bulimic

or how your poison
made me slip, drip like
mercury, through your
skillful & soft fingertips

like sodium, this persistent
salt that refuses to quit
from my veins, a reserve
remains after the detox

or why i would oscilliate
between the alkaline &  
the acidic, never quite
stabilizing at a safe degree

if i had know all this,
i would not have played
alchemist, concocting
a worthless elixir of life
Amitiel Sep 2020
Beyond is a bleak, grey skyline

I barely recognize my vignette

Yet here I am, walking that thin white line

As if I had not met him yet



I barely recognize my vignette

Black swans move like serpentines

As if I had not met him yet

Slow, calculated, but ready to strike at cloud nine



Black swans move like serpentine

He still whispers in my ear, I just cannot forget

Slow, calculated, but ready to strike me at cloud nine

“Pulvis et umbra sumus,” was his epithet



He still whispers in my ear, I just cannot forget

Their banshee bugle wails overcome; I am confined

“Pulvis et umbra sumus,” was his epithet

Like smashed cherries, their eyes were as ****** as port wine



Their banshee bugle wails overcome; I am confined

He wanted to mold to be a useful asset

Like smashed cherries, their eyes were as ****** as port wine

I gladly follow those threats



He wanted to mold me to be a useful asset

What called them on was my mental upset

I gladly follow those threats

There is nothing to regret



What called them on was my mental upset

It is foolish to once think I could outshine

There is nothing to regret

All I have ahead is a relentless battle line



It is foolish to once think I could outshine

I am merely a pathetic statuette

All I have ahead is a relentless battle line

Soon they all will forget



I am merely a pathetic statuette

Onyx swans call me to the brackish streamline

Soon they all will forget

It is there I snipped that innocent white line



Onyx swans call me to the brackish streamline

He influences my mindset

It is there I snipped that innocent white line

Time becomes frigid as I sink into that brine outlet



He influences my mindset

My body is limp in the alkaline

Time becomes frigid as I sink into that brine outlet

It is there I found no lifeline



My body is limp in the alkaline

The onyx swans fly in a v-line sextet

It is there I found no lifeline

He brought me to the finish with no reset



Beyond was a bleak, grey skyline

Yet there I was, walking that thin white line.
Last decent pantoum I fleshed out before going off Citalopram.
MC Hammered Feb 2013
Its something about that
crack
 
of the morning 
solitude
 
Becoming one alongside the 
energy
 
conveyed upon every full, comforting gust of 
wind
 
with every frigid grain of sand
collected
 
in the burrows between your 
toes
 
How the proverbial crash and sizzle out of an alkaline 
wave
 
can intimately caress ones depth of
recollection
 
so swift and flirtatious, 
passionate.
 
Reflecting the honest 
actuality
 
Honorable substandard grotesque
indifferent
 
Reminding us that we can 
procure
 
tranquility within
pandemonium
 
perfection in chaos and
inadequacy 
 
an erie absence of inorganic
resonance
 
in an alone, but not lonely repose,
comfort
 
pending that
crack
 
of the morning
solitude.
alex kennedy May 2014
What is left to do when the only way to get rid
of the salt at the bottom of my lungs
is by drowning myself in alkaline oceans.
on loving someone that hurts to love but the only way to feel better is by continuing to love them
spacedrunk Oct 2016
halls and ricola substituting as glue for every boat i lost on saturn
i left my head between the rings and the finger
maybe nothing is ever meant to be loved
L'ÉQUILIBRE EST FRAGILE
One is per se acidic
Other one is per force alkaline
Their life is neutralized
One is corrosive
Other is effervescent
Together is balanced
One is hydrogen
Other is oxygen
They quench their thirst
In 2:1 proportion  
One is proactive
Other is reactive
Both are coactive
One is productive
Other is seductive
Couple is reproductive
They build nucleus family
With atomic character
Explode or implode
Implore and explore
New order of life’s disorder
The duo’s duel disposition
Sports harmonious melody
Keith Ren Sep 2010
I will scare you with words,
Of the beautiful sort.
Those loving, but to self,
You're not allowed to report.

I'd make you believe,
In a world full of dreams,
But you prefer, in it's stead,
All those alkaline streams.

As muse, you'd release,
And as poet, I'd lay.
But you'll not accept beauty
As your own, (well, not today).

So I'll write of the ocean,
I'll write of shorestones,
Until you accept full your symphony,
And let me play out your tones.
BB Tyler Apr 2014
Midday
on a streetlight unlit
a Hawk

the Moon
rings
when the clouds roll over


the smell of broken Earth
the Color on my hands

the sharp and savory
acid scent of Juniper
sprung green from Granite

a pine cone
in the soft, blue alkaline
sweet alpine Water

termite hieroglyphs
drift wood Houses in braille
rough under fingers

sun bleached tree stump
on lake shore stones
one root in the water

Spring sun
snow patches
in tree shade

the lichen bright lime
making patient animals
of old growth Cedars

Fall
from leaf to leaf
the paths of ants

bent over
staring at the Earth
where is this poem?
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
sometimes i just have a few words masquerading as cobweb
and spider in my mind,
      sure, they're custard, clogging it up,
but then i wonder why Einstein was
such a big deal with the two worldly
distractions, and was necessarily dubbed:
still wrong.
             then as solomon predicted,
all is vanity, including the necessary 15 minutes
of it, could F. Sinatra ever cling to
such a forthcoming?
                   yes, all is vanity,
and only a few of us experience sanity
(that rhymes on purpose) -
so away from what's overly-prefixated
with words like un-, anti-, contra-, neo-, sub-...
     anglophone intellectualism is basically
a fixation on using prefixes as one might
use adjective, in that the former case
doesn't formulise the arguments,
in fact, trying to revitalise dialectics
seems a bit like finally saying: so democratically
speaking, we had no disagreement to keep
zoologically best kept hidden,
       because we said democracy and how
tribalism left a small minority roaming
the Amazonian rainforest (as if we were visiting
a Vishnu temple on Mars ping-ponging a huh?),
            people hate the queen ant as much as
they hate the rebellious worker ant...
       since the latter extends into a despotism
  the former outrightly allows,
        as long as the herd: alter. name for republic
and democracy survives and is left unchanged...
no cognitive virology can affect us...
        this is where the Cartesian model (originally
thought of as a dualism) becomes monistic,
or monastic... hmm hum hmm: mongolian harmonica...
        can there be case for cognitive virology?
if there is, where's the placebo? the standard base
in saying 0, 0, 0 is the basis for all big-bang coordinates?
that's like asking Copernicus where's east!
        the beauty within the eye-of-the-beholder has
to accept 1 fact, but still favour fact 2 to coordinate
successfully... it needs a spherical earth to not look
barbarian... or simply dim... but it also needs
a flat earth for an atlas and a "pseudo" truth to transverse
from A. to B., because, as it turns out:
satellite navigation personalised can lead a group
of Japanese tourists steering their rental car into the sea...
  like me... i have a few words floating about in my mind,
and they won't go away until i write them...
   pomocnik / labourer / helper
         nocnik / chamberpot
             noc / nacht... night...
    inżynier / engineer...
               the ridiculed version?
           pomagier, cow-eyed slacker
    who pretends to labour under or not under
                           a scrutinous eye of big baron Bartholomew...
      polymathic expeditions are one thing,
but to really explore globalisation you need
bilingual entrenchment... it gets psychological,
there any sort of economic sensibility in applying
two languages to a single cause...
    and being polymathic is a just excuse to
be, actually quite useful...
         quit quiet and quite... that's the q. q. q.
session without an answerable rubric...
                that's one proof of what happens when
diacritical marks aren't used...
             we're all bound to collide with the re
to our ego... it's only that poets and writers have
the topic enshrined in them as: now you should
feel ashamed... trying to not conceive a south
to a sunset, trying to not conceive a west to a simile,
not taking precautions that allow deja vus...
                  well? what the **** can a plumber say?
sure, it might be a marble rather than a ceramic toilet,
but it's clogged-up just the same...
                   and when writers realise they're not
St. Augustine of this world, they'll knuckle down
and write a Stephen King oeuvre...
         and by that time writing will become everything that
butchering a cow takes...
the title though, it means something...
           rumbles, in a well...
  (you always need to insert the a / the
     articles... a chair has to be asexual in English,
but you do need to orientate yourself by either pointing
at it - definitely - or "abstracting" it - namely
becoming a pioneer in suggesting it,
because Farsi akimbo by a Japanese table was never
quite right, as with due the revision of chopsticks)...
      dudnienie... see: once again the stutter...
          akin to lekki... just short of k-he... or khi...
or ghee...
                      even i thought the alkaline metals were
the pinnacle of hypersensitivity when dipped in water...
try language dipped in haemoglobin...
                    dudnienie? a noumenon expression,
as in: in itself... a far far away grumbling in a far far away
removed space for out pithy concerns...
            studnia? never mind studies and studs...
or Scandinavia...
                       the cork of the sewer system...
the tip of the iceberg...                
     and i appreciate the fact that all wars waged these days
are based on a retaliation against the mono-linguistic
parley of globalisation...
  the Arabs were naturally going to rebel against the endorsement
  of proto-Latin given the "popularity" of English...
some call it the remnants of the Empire...
           stresses on the q... as is due for desert folk:
m'qaba... it's almost glutton-bound nasal...
    it will take more than McDonalds to make them give up
their tongue... as hard as skimming across Lake Geneva
the Ayers Rock...
                           that's the one thing you can't take
from people: with what language they speak, no matter
how gravy that Father Crimbo is...
       gravy (groovy)...    you just won't extract bleach
from these people... basically: my great great great great great
great grandfather rode a camel from Mecca to Medina...
therefore my great great great great great great grandson
will also ride a camel from Medina to Mecca
    and say the words and mean them in saying them:
al' habbu Deqa; a bit like saying plandeka
   when saying tarpaulin - and is that tar-pau-leen
or tar-pau-lyn?                       hence the ambiguity,
given that people made of iota (ι) a necessarily invoked
diacritical certainty, without having judged:
or could it be umlaut... or acute?
              well... if i managed to complicate language,
i'm as fastidious in asserting that i have
                   as Shiva might be to answering Vishnu...
    someone was bound to write something like this...
having grasp of the language without questioning it
would eventually summarise itself in a perpetuated
yawn...             but wasn't it obvious?
   for the same alphabet to be formidable across an
"empire" that never slept, and for the same alphabet
to be written "naked" without auto-insinuating accents?
       anyone could pick the **** thing up,
and talk Bindi-Hindi bud-bud in Bollywood,
                      as they might talk the Texan drawl
                                    and cowboyish ye-ha! in Hollywood.
how many Hindus does it take to unscrew a lightbulb?
    dance *******! just, dánce! (yep, posh-boyo club,
      daaa'     beatbox um'pss um'pss wet-snare rockafellar
   fat boy never slims             'ys - mind you yoyo back
that variation of Lyn and Mince).
                                             **** me! Zukofsky.
SE Reimer May 2016
~

t'is some sorrow that cannot fade.
its inner sadness shuns the sun;
as hydra thrives in northward shade,
yet turns thy tearful drops to love.

she thy dark night's dew,
and from thy burning rain,
thy weeping cries of pain,
bears in brilliance, sunset hues.

attires her blooms in violet blues,
in soil giv’n she finds the way;
from alkaline, in colored sprays,
her floral pink she displays.

in acid of thy heavy tears,
she bears the blues of all thy fears;
and burnishes thy greying eyes,
with dazzling flame to lift thy sight.

she shows the inner strength that flows,
'neath bitter current lies resolve;
from teardrops come thy rainbow,
and morning dew in love absolves.

queen of mournful sighs,
she coronates thy dark of night;
from bitter groans she hope unfolds
she bears thy tears in floral jewels.

~

*post script.

(the hydra, more commonly, the hydrangea,
she rearranges her jeweled bouquet
based on her soil's pH.)

a beautiful post by Naimh, brought tears and this. i gift it to my dearest Becky, whose sorrow knows no bounds. and post it here dedicated to Naimh, apart from whose recent daily, i would not have known her sorrow. may it momentarily lift her sighs. and to the countless others, those i have come to know here, who share in this sad common bond... a mother’s loss; you have my deepest appreciation and concern for your ever-present tears, your unending sorrow... and your undying love!

please read Naimh's beautiful post, my inspiration, here:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1637667/the-lost-rose/
if interested in more on hydrangea coloration:  
http://www.espoma.com/landscaping/how-to-turn-pink-hydrangeas-blue/
Reece Feb 2013
Only several days before we met, I had killed myself several times
Each one for a sin on my soul, repentant death of the ego
And the trees on my grave were hung in joyous apathy
You were neither man nor woman, yet a person all the same
and your hair was smiling

The objective Slavic King was foreboding but intrigued
and you pained to be affectionate
I feigned the aptitude to appease the master
While you danced around the wizard in robes
but the children had no faces

The spectrum gave way to the memories of childhood despair
The dying chair and the wooden man that beat against dun windows
Mossy branches were groping hands that felt the insecurities
and I lay bare in mourning winter air

Still those whistles sing for fallen queens that litter stray beds
The misguided steed in the blacksmith's den, asking for another fix
and the inanimate table that miraculously walked away
They were all there in my vivid nightmare
But you were safe in the rubber box built by nimble giants
and your mother cried alkaline tears

It was cursed pain that you felt
But the horses of your marriage fled for the fields
and you were left there in Novosibirsk
With a silver coin pressed to your chest
And I, lay lonesome in Saratov
'neath the blackening skies
On a wall in Kryty Square
Ваш серое платье пели гимны из греховной патриотов
Cosmogony of My Emotions: Teleological Theosophy of My Personal Theology
Death cannot defined. Being of ultimate consequence it is above causation, yet reigns supreme as an effect. It can only be affined: Aqua, Ignis, Terra, Ventus , Umbra, Lucem/ Hydro, Pyro, Gaia, Aero, Erebus, Aether, all swirl in dead languages spoke a thousand years ago yet they all have been read by our generation in our youth.
The veil of death is a tabernacle in which only the high priest returns from walking, all others are drug back rope around their solar plexus. All paths of death are two fold.
First, from the feet of the Teleologic Cosmos of Emotion we grow towards the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. From the abyss we stare at the knees of the concave exterior of healing. Like the twins of June, hate and pain, are the two closest modes to death, but not the most direct. I feel fear is the ultimate neighbor of death. The flow of Consciousness lies first in the womb. Concealed from the light, darkness sheilds us from the illusion of Illumination. Hate feeds into pain as Pain feeds into hate, like a sibling rivalry. The knees (pain and hate) bend not to cushion the feet (death) but to stop the pelvis (fear) from shattering under the weight of the back bone (Stillness).
Adapted to the new ways of my mother's demon of lust wedding sloth and gluttony. Sin is the seat of unconscious control, or lack there of like a drunk blacked out asleep, already anticipating his next drink. Hate is Ache followed by ate. Pain and hunger are two sides of the same page. What can I say, everything happens for a reason. Even if I feel it was treason yet I'm no regal prince, nor a Mercury lying closest to the Solar, I drenched myself in my own masochism: physically mentally spiritually, and had done so for years. The basis of your emergency alert was quite founded, yet not without ignorance. Yet to me, you felt i was going to rise through fear to descend into pain and find my new year 25th, death. But the beauty is in my birth with one hair on my head I left the manger a man, no wig, feeling for the first time while the police speak to my mother searching like the warriors dispatched of Herod. My blood spirit is free, having saved Adam through the pyramid  I dethrone Satan by the sip of the crown of the feathered serpent. Yet you hate he who fell. I fear the vile nature of the burning fields respecting the ignitor of the flames as the sole cause of err that lead or Savior to accomplish who no one else could. For without the fall of the unholy, wingless, cut from tip to tip, Iesus-Yeshua-Judah would not be your most beloved. Without the pain of Christos (the annointed), Khristos (the enlightened) would not achieve ideology of the cosmos. Pain rises to fear shortly, and shifts into hate in confusion as siblings squabble, as I had done internally for a decade. Yet through the gift of the heart heavenly Saul is able to see the life lesson to use the lower part of our mind to find the Big Blue. Pain ascends into love if and only if death can bounce like glue. If you aim for the Sun and the Moon you can only be a child of astronomy, yet you showed me my dreams to buy you a ring of Saturn and hand it to you on a Sunday. I believed my pain laid plain and bare could convince you of you're convictions. My mission in the deepest recesses of body was for you to give into your fears so we could slip into the underworld of sin sipping red wine until the mounring in my heart rose Rex by the fading starlight. I dream to live a lye, basic as alkaline, I wished to be a battery. I saw myself freed of my woman battering heritage ceasing the cyclic self fear that posited the ferocity of my fore fathers, due to the love of a woman most beloved and true. I felt you could be the instrument to my Burning Lyre, my love Plutonic I felt my crow caw. As I held you in my arms singing with you in harmony, setting the bond between the viscous cycle of Pain, paying dues with Hate, to rise like smoke to face fear starring death in the face like a shadow below. The night sky black with how to Know, twinkling with the star light of Love. Only above the vault of heavens clung Joy, Hope, and Live.
Without poeticizing further, what I term the Basement of Abasment consists of Death at the roots (red inverted triangle) rising into Hate (orange w/ red center) and Pain (tan w/ red center), with the connection of Pain and Hate forming a cross with the direct bond between death and fear (yellow w/ small red center).
Proceeding up the towards the chain of being, leads to what I call the equator of emotions. Cling/stillness/resolve is the grey region connecting all body's of feelings as the Moses, the leader of the Exodus and the appellation of the celestial globe. It binds Love and Know laterally to one another, while connecting the Vault of Virtue to the Basement of Abasement.
Cassie Wight Nov 2011
Alkaline eyes
As if pierced by some awl,
As if hallowed by some blunt axe,
As if to juxtapose
Bee stung lips.

Cabaret music,
Dead souls,
Dancing corpses.
Ella Enchanted:

Swinging, Swirling, Swaying, Swabbing
Sick, Suffering, yet
Sauntering;
Sweaty Socage with
Scummy Suede-heads,
Stocking
Satan’s Sweet Sibling.
Swollen Skeleton,
Skin Shunned and Shivering,
Shadowed, her face;
Shock-less eye Sockets

Tired grow her limbs,
Unction bottled in her heart.

Unaware, her clientele,
Zeal in their eyes.
Vernarth says: “Nocturnal mutism, nocturnal stuttering, goes from the fragile phrasing, peripheral phrase, hovering last word, where my loudspeaker hits, dissonant Sagittarius, I must prepare my denarius, not but, beforehand, cheers of hope to Zion, who among the bush of the millionaire wind that travels from Pluto to Mercury, each day that we map ourselves, trying to be more earth than in its own flowering. Paradiso Omega, nap of the oldest dream, adobe path. My  to fly Anne genuflects her heart towards Mariah from Heaven, in the title of hundreds of throats and gargles of the pyogenic sediment rambling. Oh so long night!, so clear firmament born of the fallen ether of the great Heaven so clear and enlightening Compass 37 on the quilt of God, three by three towards one, linking above the easy pit and dreams, dying Paradiso, Agonizing Horcondising, a fragile mass disoriented, discouraged, with numeral letters and quadruple letters, stone after stone of forage falling on the cinnabar sky "

Joshua de Piedra from the high pinnacle exclaimed…: “Stone after stone in its correction is born of a new silence eternal bond. It eats it during the day, it eats at night, just like the galaxies licking the frivolous awakening from a starless night, but being the substance of stars liquefied with a whip. Pilgrimage or Path of the Cross, on the stony ground of Uncle Hugh's house, in the other similar, my Anne's house, further on in the hidden and clayey chaos, the last Indigenous in Western clothing, working and stuffing the wells with green size, distributing alms for his apprentices, I keep looking from the high hill earlier. Kaitelka the whale and a Dwarf Leviathan; steward of the unnameable, perhaps of an unknown Cyprian squirrel censoring Noah in his animals empowered to tell him about a magnificent episode.  Each species balancing its essence to make the most grandiloquent dossier in the world, to join them and value them towards the unknown peasant world. The big apple to go, with its tailcoat worms, well dressed and united by the march of the rock sentinel Evangelus. Kaitelca alpha and omega cetacean, fluffy with bast for all the most lost seas of the watery world. She so down cetacean, she throws herself into the sea in fears in this gloomy space, exhausted warehouse, lifesaver between lives of lives, like wishes without delay, to beat the divergent period, falling on the flat ceiling. Enter to sail through the mud of Iodine, of this great Parnassus of all iodine, the Messiah was squeezing his robe of love all over the upper margin of the face, Jesus light, loving great pilgrims who helped me to urbanize the skeleton of this great demolition, of a great geyser on its oceanic back, distributing gifts through the tangled brow of the Horcón and Cantillana massif.  Freshwater meringue, fluffy flowers, incense, fuchsias, and Calypso smoke migrating from house to house in Sudpichi.  Adelimpia, holding the cord of the axis of the fatigued planet, Queen Anne restored the acute respiratory meridians, which moved her heart from the sinister side encompassed, cursed globe moving to another galaxy towards its 9600 years of expansion. The stumbling of the sun's rays, crowded on the back of the Jacinta, which multiplied on her bank of meek ideas, to reside above all the assemblages of millions of benefits, since the world is an improper world. The world has no end, God is a beautiful mute world, where we make mistakes every day believing that we are ..., being less true. Rather, we are the waste of the almost noise that tried to leave us as a legacy of the first noise of creation that was felt wandering, perhaps it was its breathing, of its lipped wise crater, in the most irresistible protoforms, devoutly preparing turgid liquids for driving through every dinner, without stars tasting their multi-polygonal sandwiches. Memory is a raging waste, every time we try to get to lick his honey-like him, we run out of a famished minute of life not lived”

Says the spirit Leiak:

“Without a doubt, without drooling, without Buddha… the tendrils of the universe flamed, like rolling pickets within his hearing sea ear.  Striped with wounded marks in zigzag, by the middle row between the unarmed infidels.  Filled with the greatest amazement, massacred with laughter riddled with the non-shining meteor. From temple to temple, without Buddha close to him, he continues lost on the path of valleys among several, by the waves of chimneys like the snout of a mastiff with typhus, infected badly that detonates a thousand times, circular or macrocosmic chemistry in submissive grounds, to drink, where no one is wrong. Pendency of the lymphatic jellyfish, among the meek otolith of Kaitelka, almost deaf, of so many prayers of impious savages to hunt her ..., she continues begging for mercy as a species, she shakes and shakes as if eliminating the supposed flea jellyfish in whirlwinds of babies in her ears of children's stories. Anne came out of her basket as if she had been picked up from the Nile, but in reality, she was close to Chocalan, Popeta, or Polulo, lit up like coal from a steppe oven. I continued walking shirtless on an insomniac night, waiting in the decimals of the full moon, some indebted Solaris of the evangelist, in a space that slowly locked the crooked tongue of sleep, locked by the treacherous luck of doubt. Plague and doubt, plague and nail, which opens the vast sea, unsanitary radio, from the messianic ****** of the muses to Botticelli blaspheming. Anne, a diva of the division of past lives, does not die in misapplication against all odds like a thousand sperms of an ensign, making her stipends simple, to buy sensitive chaste little flowers in suitcases of her super-saucy folds ..., there is no probing look similar to the ocean Cousteau's journey, through which the lost retina drains, lies the selective gaze, covered by the Guardian, who looks before the denigrated sap unfolds, which wears away scarlet fever, the gaze of substance, in front of thousands of sayings, plagiarizing Tramontane rumors "

Queen Anne rolls up her sleeves, collects ashes from the ill-fated victims sifted, by the tobacco, a very good service from the fumes of venerable lost in disbelief, this painting becomes vague and with a sordid diametric image and silent cataclysm. The confine of evil godson in a duo and verse of the Universe, of the concrete displaced with pieces of the tobacco, has been spoiled. Joshua de Piedra with filings in his stomach was with hundreds of particles tickling the metaverse on the beards of extraterrestrial comets. Heaven and Hell, interrupted sleep, fatal nap, draconian wind, Ultrasensitive Glory of austere forces, as long as you are alive, you are prey to it. Ignorance continues to spend the night in the empty vapors of the valley of chaos, duels of masses of sleeping consciences underlying the erosive *****, Queen Anne, is gathered at a gallop by Joshua de Piedra, blindfolds him so that he does not numb more body incense and set on a spring flower. By the knees, they are incinerated, but sometimes they are half-burned, burning like incense with Joshua in reversible adulation, of the rawest exquisiteness of essence of escapes of blossoming in chains, with the drama of carcinoma petals in anti-carcinoma times and of eternal life external. At the Post Office, the postman envelopes the new vignettes, new gardens of relevant highlights. The friend Joshua links the trough of flames escaping from his domain, at a faster pace for other readings, varying in shreds of first-time, delineating, and walking breaths that are lost in the misty vividness.

Says Leiak: “After making a round, Adelimpia with Hugh and Bernardolipo, restart their adventure, almost at the top of the Horcondising massif, collecting riches from between stranded galleys, and vaults dragged by the cataclysm towards this consistent mountainous ..., The amounts of coins from different origins were countless, from all those wealthy who stole from all their belongings, the tainted and intrepid wisdom, getting rid of everything before confronting the thunderous flashes of the Guardian, to subtract intelligent action from the oppressive limit in maintaining the Gnostic parallel. Adelimpia saw how the thousands of nausea cleaned themselves, before liquids and gastric ills, of which they are the bad residences, deciding to die acidly or spiritually towards an alkaline light.  Karmic oppression, anhydrous bubbles, carbonating every breathing capsule of compassionate life. Every day there is more foul-smelling hunger in men of acid rust, for the good spirits of the dipsomaniac in the diet of the most lost undefeated blind, a universal record of walking impoverished at the end of his objectivity. Adelimpia…., And Carmina; maiden of the extravagant silence is linked to the ox Xenon, master of his pumpkin ox, collects bubbling fragments from their stomachs of acid and fragmented, with unfortunate applicants to obtain him, all of them exalted before his prayers, as well as that fleece that the other possessed ox; Cricket that was grazing in the radiant spaces of the grasslands, ruminating lost ties for the good of all and being able to observe in the distance going beyond all sensitive imagination, being me Leiak, the spirit of Vernarth who looks over where he does not it does, sometimes incomprehensibly because of its purging. "

Joshua de Piedra says: “Horcondising, land of Spa, of beautification to correct your beautiful osteological inhabitant, your beautiful pro-lieutenant inhabitant, I believed that wealth would flow from my hands to finance my own poverty. Horcondising, is my nurse Luz, tracing with her blood the route of the Talami reign, everything continues without direction, the lustrín lost his paste of ruby cream and powders, of the conductor who governs their destinies in my hands ..., and it is required. Horcondising, badly and fearfully I say genuflected, here are my riches, but I swear by the most sacred, that I never thought I was so poor at the same time, in the presence of the almighty. Karmic planet, you come like bread and honey from a dazzled bee, you come to fill us with light through the horns of the cat, mounted on the back of the rooster, mounted on the roan bovine. Horcondising ... What a memory! When I was running fast through good waters and Sudpichi, I saw in line some swindlers in uncertain Faith, loudly dismantling the stunning consciousness of possessing without letting those who do not have know, and what it is to lack, what is the love of the slightest doubled second, until it brings honey and milk to the mouth of the beggar and with new clothes, around the circular saffron, the light of isolation and God's judgment on Hommo Sapiens. Baba, Vrja Ananda, I know that to ascend you have to put clean, white clothes on the wind, lavender with druid purple and stuffed on the petioles that fell on the stumpy back of the little elephant. I never got tired, I always laughed and the manly wind stretched my cheeks of purple roses, to laugh at the feminine world like a new man being born from the darkness of loneliness, in a new man, with a new life, in a deranged valley of Solitude, gaseous, ulcerative and asphaltic soil, of Horcondising, in the blaze of a fierce virtuous lantern ..., lying with its lost light on the rich and poor, entangled in resin from a hopper and a villain with feet tired from walking. As immeasurable to act I continue, although there is too much, among which nothing was ever forbidden from an ominous advance. But more awaits me, whoever wants numb oppressive anti-libertarian oppression, I will continue to ruin myself after this world, in the jaws of the rogue armchair of emptiness, with strong and pious prayer, strong and pious karmic augury to ruin the ruffian, that he holds and looks at you like a kitchen log in his dispensary. Karma comes to without and are, with are without are, with dream sounds, hallucinated sounds to realize the truth of accuracy. I have no vocabulary when I am hungry or thirsty for Faith or equanimity, but rather, more than all the power of the high massif to fall on the despotic ripper and cutthroat, accursed beings of the night darkness! I decree worse evil than all the bad curses to which it provokes by a glance, and stuns you like an ant in the fragrant countryside. Karma, baba nam kevalam, anti-karmic, to anyone who doubles your life, to **** you more than three times, without falling into the arms of Forgione or a Buddhist Monk tired of getting tired, self-love and improper Karma from now on everyone and all who with their deeds and gaze invade them with disloyal flatteries and evils, the true triumph of Truth and Equality so that it is equal to all resigned, looking less like the worldly offering of goodness, but rather bad at last of counts. Francesco, are you coming right...? Here I wait for you, low-cut I will also get in line to be supplanted. My story will be vital and oppressive, full of capital, anti-charitable because I have never been able to understand it. I know that powerful affiliations will come, and I will be in your lap, and all those who process your consummation and death will fall, a bad omen of their whim like any piece. Force the spirit that outside is evil, always yours, Master...! I am going, I am going, each one who looks at me as his prey will have to govern and feed him, for better or for worse, and otherwise, I will be eternally burned along with all his progeny in the Horcondising. "


So Joshua spoke when making a wooden whistle. He cut his index finger with transparent grease, and saw a viscous bleeding liquid fall into the constant complaint, from each head of frustrated saboteurs, and mercilessly squandered by those who aim at you every day to finish you and beg your entire eternal psychic substance, without Numbers or paternal letters, Vernarth and the Hexagonal Birthright, attended with great enthusiasm this regression, knowing that he was in their nation and domains where their mythological beings accompanied them beyond all vision. They all remain normal; doing everyday things, but Vernarth's voice accompanied them from an altar in a vivid voice and with great clarity in the voice that expressed their pilgrimage.

Vernath says with an infernal tone: “The Horcondising rack runs out of people benches, to attend to their requests the sky has become convex and unattended, to walk down the fragile plateau crouching down, weightless trees rub their bruised roots on the scrubbed Living spirits over each parlor, each present master along with his present consort seemed like perfect strangers, each separated by name in their new and uncertain divided destiny. All by putting the hand where the ulcer makes intermittent unhealthy purulence, on whether we are and correspond what we are or those who manage to have in this twisted life without a surplus, and what would it be if we had surplus ...? Rows of speakers and auditors are compressed, trying to want to be understood, but the words are keys and conclaves of high architecture sifted, of the wild despair in which we are beasts escaping from an eternal safari of thunder and cannon, vaping fumaroles of ancestry and drinking Bourbon to the thunder of the steely ***** on the orphanage of looming. Here Fray Andresito unfolds his body, you know it here is…! Right here he aimed at the weakest, the strongest, perhaps being a slave. What a difficult word to define... This cell without adjoining limits, called Atman, or female soul engendering another female soul, in the arms of the sorcerer, whose packaging and the serial knot would be made by a novice, who did not know if it was tightly closed, so as not to know if it would be fine in the future and reopen it with light in Gandhi's eyes, or by a child in care appointments without his arms to approach his mother cradle, perhaps being ivy or algae that sway his breaths vain…, from the flickering of the dotted throbbing of the Sun in flight through the lost night of the altarpiece, putting silicone because it comes out of the picture. Today a being was born in the arms of the almighty, a being anointed in the placenta of golden liquid and augrum, filling everyone and everyone leaving them speechless… ”.

Its ancestry of eternal way comes from mutual funds, equivalent prices in promoting values, on falls and rises, in franc growth, and various financial statements to beat dividends. The lines of people obediently migrated to the Horcondising, they never thought that they would be a great family, all in chains of multicolored and endless shapes, all in the high mountain at more than three thousand meters, and no higher, because in this Age again life, I cannot count more than thousands, in which the hundreds stay up late every day on this streetcar called the alliance. Branches of salty puree and ammonite soups with coriander, in the transversal valleys, to the southeast, with verve envelopes and their large moral excess on their backs and their hope of leaving all their treasures on the sidelines, before entering the muddy showers. when swarming with turbulent regrets and losing all ego money, highlighting a new epidermis, with an unprotected but opulent soul. Each being devoid of the word and thought, was trans walking through the heavenly ranks, with buzzing in their hearing aids attenuated and a smelly shanghai screeching, nothing would be left to pour into the channels near the almighty, the one who picked them up from the ground satin in some small sulfur coins and bleeding hollow, nothing will charge to their accounts or in their excess pride, only white skin in dark skin, and dark turning to dawn gray dermis, for exclusiveness, only lost in the jungle of ignorance shipwrecked tundra. Grandmother Adelimpia cleaned with sweepers and pine feather dusters, wormwood trunk and molle, and with the ceiling. My Anne, swept the flat floor with her wedding dress, years ago seasoned ..., Hugh and Bernardolipo laced some wines pigeonholed in the devil's segment, so as not to lose track of the high hill, which could be seen falling on the witnesses of the fallen Calvary Before the world ends for many, but not for the Huasos. The auction continued; Anne still had an end-of-the-world fever, with so many degrees…. Don't worry Anne, a Mapu aboriginal boy; the one with the sinister ..., brings a good herb to improve you, it is said that he comes from less to more, with his face like a beautiful farm landscape, stream water that quiets fevers and ills of charm. Have faith, says the elder Sylph Angelita Huenuman, reborn to Anne…: “The bark of that oak will be demolished and crumbled to cover you from evil and worse evil charm. Tomorrow on the high snow-covered peak, sweet cakes will fall steamed with berries and flavored almonds in your Word, which always deserves to smile to the limit, you are the omega star stele that will know how to smile, you will see it just like your Joshua de Piedra; which is an eternal incense of ruse, you will be dressed as a coco channel between aromas of eternity like spring light and first communion, between your snowy new garland of sap and in which you are always like a web-footed dreamy bird, moving away from the Aculeo lagoon, away from the giant hermit emerging from a nucleus of water and its pool, sobbing on each step of lake light of ascending sketch and of a lagoon avoiding new despised damage "
Alpha Day, Alpha Night, Omega Day Omega Night
JR Rhine Dec 2016
you make me want to listen to Alkaline Trio
ironically,
for their morosity
is no longer my own. and maybe

they'd be happy for me. happily
singing their songs
with a different
lung.
Have you ever held so much of something that causes the things you wish not to see in those you love?

Have you ever held a pain that isn't even yours in some cases?

have you ever held on to it so that it doesn't slip and take out such a beautiful tragedy of those you love?

That if you slipped and allowed just an ounce of this pure and refined substance to hit the open air that it would be instantly absorbed into the psyche and physical bodies of all those around you , thus causing them to convulse in agony and gut wrenching pain?

Have you ever felt this could be even close to how you have felt before?

As if once they get the tiniest taste of their own creations and manipulations results, they would fall, so far and hard they would not see the way out of such dire deeds and sad and abusive ways and pains of the causes and causation's, the outcomes of the thrusted busted, go away's, leave me be's, the I don't care about you's, you are a fool's, you are stupid, stop annoying me's, oh here watch this one, they will break , so laugh as loud at them as you can's? can you see what I am saying?  in short all the truly horrible things we all , including me, myself and I, do, when we hurt, are confused, or some how, loose our way in this confounded maze we seem to find ourselves lost in.

Is it enough to allow them to taste the fruit of their leaves of the trees they planted on our mother womb as our father feeds them lovingly, knowing these seeds are wrong?

is it enough? would describing it be enough to cause the pin to be realized if only an imaginary trend of a friends busting the illusion for a crafted grafted second, in hopes to say, stop and look, we are all dieing if we continue this way...... but so many of us, carry these pains like a badge of **** honor, like we are singlehandedly saving the very souls of those whom we don't even know, at times, that is... when the pain and isolation isn't too much to bare, and we don't end up lashing out and creating sorry *** little seeds of trees we then drop along our mothers womb as father lovingly tends to mothers needs, as if we are johnny apple seed in the garden of plenty and abundance all like where is my coffee!!!!????? like i have been a time or two?

Would it be enough for me to change, much less you? maybe, seems we are all stuck on a revolving Russian roulette of, "you first jack, then we will see if my *** antiees up all in..." for we all seem to be in this oh so, silly Mexican stand off as illustrated by Marshall Mathers in the "*******" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHi-IjsilSw

Cause this silly little thing, is ME, and it is You, yet, am I holding you correctly, by saying ***** it, its me and not you? or is this **** thing on backwards and in roman numerals? cause situation is all jacked up, from the floor up if we fail to see that , I and others who are pain eaters, or, what ever you choose to call us, for we are all full, just look about you, and see all the love is flowing but some of the most daring and beautiful ones are slowy fading, falling, wasting away cause we are too **** pridful to say, **** this not today, I will not hold your ****, this is your **** you take and feel it, I am rather in the clear and am shorting myself the love I truly need to breath, but, I am such a freak and a lover of you all, that I ****** this crap back up denying you the ability to even grab your **** from me, and I horde it hide it and die in it faithfully, for I said I would and my word means everything. but, Now I find so many begging me to release it, let it be, let it go and even if fools fall the **** over dead from the shock of the shame and pain they have graced us all with but we have not had to bare, do go dropping like flies, then that is okay, as I stand shocked, appalled and *******, cause we are to save them all **** it. yeah... says who, son? is all I hear any more. says who son? who said they could make it to such a place of pleasure, leisure, construct, invention, visionary, oh, my how we are to truly shine , shine, be and play? who told you this anyway? and I stand silent, speechless, and rather dumbfounded in my lack of afraid. for they are right. ****, it,, they are right, again.. for to be able to truly and finaly bew able to grasp, grokk, totally and truly rock this truth of movement and this transmogrification of station and situtations where we oh so are to truly play and live like life truly exists, we must let go and let bare the being that was, is, and wont be there. yet here i am, still stuck in a silence of judgement pending, standing in a hall, holding up the line cause I refuse to let go of this which is holding me from the true garden and my possible real soul mate, whom ever they maybe, all because I am so affraid of feeling the lose of even the hated, and hatful of thee, ?.. and why? why are so many of those bauetigul people like me, doing this very thing? so many of us became sin eaters simply out of need, and we eat the sins of others, and eneded up, sinning ourselves, simply to deal with the burdon of the pain... what , in the world were we thinking? , well, we were thinking, what a shame, and we were thinking, why do we not know how to help or deal with all this over whelming pain, why atre we burdoned so? and why must , i let go of the only think I have ever known, eating this sin, that became my identity and my reason to be, and now you ask, me to strip myself of me, of this child laid bare for all the world to see, as I fall apart, is that what it is you wish to see? for this is what will happen when I no longer bare the sin of you and you and you, for mine have been forgiven from what I understand for laying no blame upon no man for the sin I consumed of man, and I am not alone in this endeavour or relieaf, that is if I can muster the foolish courage to let it go, and watch as you all, fall, fall, fall, of your own pains, but I say this, as I have said before, as  child I said it and thousands of times in my life, you do not have to fall so far, just except what ypou have caused and bare it and do the equal and truly triple the opposite and love, see, for me to take such a chance, such a leap of faith and risk, my falling by my creations of feeling watching you fall from your own pains, in turn causing me to fall the same, , but I say, you do not, for if as I said I do this, and risk, then you do the same and love again, as you did before you remembered how to hurt..... before you learned how to hurt inside, before you realized, you die each time the pain lives inside... for you were never a sin eater, but I can and am telling you how to digest your sins, so you don't fall, so far and possibly fail and well, bye.. you must bare you harm and except it as real and them manifest the loving and caring truth that nullifies the harm and corrosive acridness and become, alkaline a base , so base your love in truth and harmony, and resonate out of the hate and misery, for, I do understand what it is I must do, but it all truly, like I said a thousand times, depends on you, and yes there is a possibility that you could bring me to my death by focusing on never getting out, but lets not kid each other son, I will not be loosing, and why risk the guarantee of you never being with the life of us, only so you can attempt to bring me or others down? for it makes no sense, and is not of the flow and growing of life and is not abundant, so, swallow all the fear and doubt, that pain and acid that you spit out, and except it for it is the reality you created and we sin eaters swallowed and held so as to limit your harm, and many of us, did this from birth and never truly knew what we did wrong to end up with such a work load if you get my drift. but my soul is clear, on this, and wqell, I must start laying this down, and by doing so, I need not grace you with a sound or a jot or tittle, but the facts that you may or may not find life get a little different, but This is not for me to say, for it is simply close and time for me to let it all go and look for the truth as my ownn naked frozen child deep inside shivers , but, I know this, no matter the loss, no matter the cost, no matter the choices that will be chossen due to tempral placement and how limited the view is from where we are, that I will be okay, and most of my people are already across, in fact, I think I am one of the few still stupidly here, begging and causeing such a scene, but, I suppose they are right, "if you have not chossen your own ways, by now, then what makes you think anyone should wait for you to realize there is no tomorrow once we move forward.. and well, I hope to wake and each time I wake, love be closer and closer to me and this horror and this lies deciet and hate, be a none existant, reality, for me, or anyone else ready to make that change. and you still can, but, um, if time is running out on the elect, then um, maybe time is running out on you and me so, we better get this thing going, and make a stand , a choice, and eat out own **** and swaet out love and all things worth growing and knowing. for the information is a seed that is the key, if you know, then it is time to unload, that seed so it can be a tree, for spring has sprung and we are about to be leaving and blooming some **** fine leaves, and flower, ohh, so, unless you are the dead and decayed bark that we are about to shed, litterally, then it is time to become a blossom, and swallow your own deeds and devulge the information that setts so many others free, you will be saving lives, and the livfe you save might just freaking be your own. no I mean this jack. and, I love you, but I can not keep holding this, for most of it is not mine, and I soon hope to be resigned from the possition of rather high ranking in the sin eating department, "Jesus is number one there, and I am not in the tier, but you can beat me, so swallow you sin and push out the freedom and love, the truth that sets the rest of the tree free from this infestation cause we wont **** the tree, but we continue like this and the tree of life we wont see either, for we will fall away and away to never be again, make your choice, cause I have Purple Hearts to Bloom baby, and blue and white stripes on my flower, for I am a full purple blue moon, , hope to see you there, and if you hurt son, sorry, but it is time, so, take my advice and swallow and shed and do deeds that save lives and loves.  Yes I know I am slow, ven my mother said so, in the scanned images, see, poems, though he is"slow?"  yeah, thanks ma.. lol, smile, I hope I see here , she, finally free of all the harm done her and forgiven, for I forgave her long long ago, I love and respect my mother, for she gave me these bones of gold, and at 14 she did better than many, with such a prize package like me.
Candlebox-Far Behind
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4QL0L9fgbg
yes i just might be that high in my sin eating ways and abilities, but then again only the fool hearted care to dare all and any attempts to find you thinking and living and not seeding an evil tree, so, don't , love, live, and finally remember and be free.

— The End —