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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it was only the first screening of ex_machina,
but the words 'deus' and 'placebo'
were uttered after a walk of thus pondering:

understanding this movie requires kant's
critique of pure reason matter of frankly,
i lost the kantian concepts of *a priori
and
a posteriori using the cartesian method of understanding,
gravitating in my realm of understanding
almost unconscious why the cartesian uncoupling
of the kantian compounds is required:

invoking a purely cognitive aspect of analytical
and synthetic i took the temporal realm of
pre- and post-, which is respective of the definitions
of the above italicised -

when watching the movie... apart from the groovy
part where music has no central role as is usual
in all horror movies... the aesthetic of horror movies
has been cleaned up thanks to technology,
that knife into the chest like knife into butter
is perfect... the knife into the chest also perfect...
it's the robotic of man's daily routines done by a robot
that does the horror bit...
it's music replaced with claustrophobia,
the theory is mesmerising... generally speaking
phobias are tiny... and the horror scenario
losing focus in terms of music and instead
focusing on an expanding phobia, like claustrophobia
is a gigantic leap in the horror movie scene...
i wonder what the moving imagery of arachnophobia
would look like... without technological frankensteins...
a massive thematic move but still trendy with mary shelley's
original idea... more clean cut... no scar marks...
a beautiful frankenstein emerges...
but enough of that...

the kantian translated with cartesian methodology,
losing the a priori and a posteriori coupling
with analytical and synthetic notions -
like me when i first learned language,
21 years later i've just started the analytical procedure,
prior to these years, the cut-off point at 21
i was merely synthesising the language,
so well that i even managed to phonetically
strain my tongue to fake having a limousine
and a mansion and a horse... posh posing fake...
it happens - no geordie no scouser no cockney in me...
just mundane pure elocution to a ****,
harmless if i'm being honest -
but no, no no, i mean i had to synthesise the language
first, before i lost all possible synthesis of it
attributed to vocabulary... it's then that i started
to analyse it!

so this robo chic... i was thinking:
what's the analysis to synthesis ratio in her?
that must be balanced, right?
there are so many things to analyse in life:
all those biologists, chemists, forensic scientists...
but only one successful synthesis - almost
like free will that does not dare to conflict
with other possibilities...
there's no before / after concerning what one knows,
a symbiosis has to exist between these two things -
it's not that she's artificial, she's pure analytic,
she can't be pure synthetic:

deep blue is pure synthetic - he was given all
the possibilities of a chess mastermind,
he's purely synthetic, because the only thing
he can analyse is chess, and in only doing so,
he can only synthesise the authentic craft of
playing chess and nothing else, meaning he has
limited parameters -
but this robotic woman / frankenstein
would be lost in terms of pure synthesis, unlike
deep blue - she's pure analysis, meaning
the interaction is almost two dimensional,
meaning that if man questions his free will,
she would also have to do so...
i'm thinking analytical intelligence (a.i.)
either pondering suicide, ****** - morality
in total... and being drunk...

the same conceptualisation applies
in my own scenario, using the cartesian methodology
on kantian concepts i realised
my thought is an interchange of analysis | synthesis |
analysis | synthesis... this interplay
is staggering... first i cognitively synthesise
then i cognitively analyse, ping-pong.

i have no care for attaching a priori to
synthesis or a posteriori to analysis, or whatever
dogmatic building block is expected,
in the temporal sense i see the future
as ordained by the faculty of imagination
and the present as ordained by the faculty of memory;
in the present there's only this:
a lot of verbs, some which i can control, some which
i can't... depending on my noun bank account...
that same old fascination with flowers and
the complete and utter lack of apps. for deciphering
names of flowers...

but of course there's a moral to the film's plot -
it mentions consciousness and awareness to something...
a bit like man being conscious of his evolution,
hence the necessity of forgetting **** sapiens
and embracing deus placebo...
after all... it will please the vanity of man to
think himself a god...
and in so doing... craft the possibility of a deus sapiens...
a rational god... given that we're still monkeys
in spandex shooting bullets at innocent random targets
in the minority.

did i forget something?
four beers does the trick... i watched a great movie...
now i'm going to drink some whiskey
and paint my room blood red
donning a dracula bun of hair tickling with excitement:
but prior... if the universe is an undifferentiated substance,
say... water... i imagine the geometry of it's boundlessness
concerning the capillary effect of water...
what sort of geometric shape would allow the singularity
of the universe to provide the parabola of it
being in a tube of glass... in comparison to it...
i'm an indentation... i'm like mercury in similar circumstances...
hello big void... filled with aurora colours and magpies.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
before i pull this one out of my *** (again - listen, these words are not coming from either head or heart, it's best to pull them from the bowels, a gut-wrenching-feeling is more potent than that "something" that "something" delusional pulled from a clenched heart... as far as i know, the brain is incapable of emotions, it doesn't understand them, and since it doesn't understand them: it ridicules them)... which brings me to point:

(a) perhaps the idea of a soul is out-dated... why wouldn't it be, 21g worth of breath does not equal a soul... hence the autopsy of man, each detail studied seperately, the cardiologist knows the heart, the neurologist the brain etc., but some items work in a solipsistic mode... the heart is robotic, automaton pump queen (and not the kind of pump you'd get from Shveeden) - thump thump thump! come to think of it, most of our bodies are robotic, automated... lucky for me: i don't have to think about the heart doing what it does, it just per se does it... i'm not even sure i'm gifted with the a.i. brain functions... but there's an underlying principle that governs all of these items... some call it the self... i prefer: the Σ ultimatum... some would call it soul... but there has to be something akin to the Σ ultimatum that allows me to become detached from this body, while at the same time be bound to it: high blood pressure, heart attack on the horizon... take the high blood pressure pills... ****... what was (b)? oh... yes...

(b) i'm sorry, virginity doesn't cut it for me, lucky me that it was isabella of grenoble that allowed me to move aside from: god, prior to losing my virginity.... roxette: do you feel excited, you're still the one (shanaia twain), fade to black - metallica... i was such a romantic before i lost this dreaded curse... i was a romantic... 19th century style romanticism... but you really can see past this sort of romanticism unless you haven't ******... these days the right complains about cultural marxism: plenty of things to complain about... it makes as much sense as a pickle in a dollop of custard... or cooking with pale indian ale to make a stew: bad idea... wine, brandy, cider? fine... beer? terrible idea to cook with... but unless you haven't lost your virginity, you can't see what cultural marxism chose as its opponent: cultural darwinism... you know how little you hear about darwinism outside of the english speaking world? zero to none, yes, it's an accepted fact, but this fact does not permeate outside of the fact per se, the fact contains itself and the whole subsequent narrative because subconsciously stored... no other people than the people who found it ensure there are subplot proof statements of a reconfirmation of the validity... the whole social science bogus trap of rating people on looks... contradicting the meritocracy of that old Socratic saying: let me be as beautiful on the inside as on the outside... if you haven't ******: you're still the same old romantic i was at puberty... once you ****... well... cultural marxism dwarfs... yes yes it's there... so? but at the same time you can at least appreciate seeing the antithesis: cultural darwinism... the romantic needs to die the most carnal death via experience... all my ideals were shattered, this perfection of woman... i very much liked the idea / not even the ideal of a woman... but when the idea fizzled out and there was no ideal to begin with... i saw cultural darwinism for the very first time and... it was as ugly as cultural marxism so heavily criticized by the conservative right of the west... so... i decided to walk the middle ground, ignoring both sides (of the argument).

(c) i wouldn't have come up with a point see, unless my favorite square schematic didn't pop into my mind, Kantian, as ever: the best philosophy is the antithesis of English pragmatism and overt-politicisation, so it has to be German, ergo? i will not explain these terms, i figured: if i nail a decent example to fit each category, that's enough: since you can then visualize the concept via the example:

analytical a priori                           synthetic a priori
there's a need to throw                   learning
a ball at                                                to throw a ball
a target                                                 at a target once
                                                            ­  the need has been
                                                            ­  established...



synthetic a posteriori                    analytical a posteriori
there's a  need to                           perfecting to throw
      throw a ball at                               a ball at a target
a target, in order
to perfect this need...

                                            baseball..­. cricket...
at least: that's how i define knowledge of something
simple without having to use mathematics
that Kant used to explain... 2 + 2 = 4...
mathematics isn't exactly a man's best friend
at explaining philosophy...
you write philosophy that alligns itself
to mathematics... no wonder: moths in books...
yawns, unfinished works...
i found that sports work just as well
as mathematics... and you have the already
primitive objects to work with...
rather than pseudo-objects: i.e. numbers...
the abstracts of perception: i'm actually 6ft2...
not 6ft1... karolína plíšková is 6ft1...
       as noted when watching her today...

  i'll admit, i'm always a bit shaky when it comes
to this sqaure, whether it's over-simplified,
notably the top left corner: analytical a priori,
i'm always of a mindset that wants to associated
this definition with: analytical a- priori...
  i.e. borrowing from atheism:
    to analyse something without there
being a prior to example...
               analysis without a prior example...
i guess that's the mojo of science... the driving force...
back to sports... bow and arrow...
   tools: target...
       whether a bow and arrow and a deer
to begin with...
or a hand and ball and a wicket to end with...

there's a need to throw                  
a ball at a target...

            and cricket was the precursor of
baseball, but prior to cricket?
   there was archery...
              and prior to archery...
   there was forever a fundamental need,
e.g. to go from point X to point Z...
   see... as much as Kant wanted...
   numbers don't really solve the "problem"
of explaining something: algebra would be
better suited... x + y = z...
                    with numbers either hovering
above, or below (in the instance of chemistry's
subscript)...

talking of squares... sūdoku...
well, if at any time the french were to receive a hard-on
in terms of inventing something,
the english: rugby, cricket, football, tennis...
the french really did read some of the hebrew
qabbalah literature, as i am doing...
magic squares...
       the secular version of this puzzle
first appeared on july 6, 1895 (the modern version)...

it came to us from India and China...
again... why do western cultural darwinists
always tell our genesis from
the perspective of: "out of Africa"?
aren't there elephants in India?
            i will not believe i originated in Africa,
i'm not an "out of Africa" sorry state of
incompetence... i place my origins in
the sub-continent... at least that's where my
current language originates from...
the great migration across the Siberian tundra,
rather than some African savannah...
after all the Bangladeshi and the Sri Lankans
(the tear of India) resemble burnt cinnamon
in tone, some even as dark skinned as
east africans...
   if the germanic people want to stick to
the "out of Africa" narrative (notably the English):
let them have it... i place my origins in
India...

   never mind, now i'll write a name's dropping
history of how july 6th, 1895 happened...
the "magic" squares...

    from either India or China (chess from India)...
moschopulus of contantinople
  introduced them (the "magic" squares)
in the early 1400s... apparently ancient qabbalists
had knowledge of them
  (so... a trip well spent)...
                             rabbi joseph tzayah (1505 - 1573)
magnum opus: responsa...
             rabbi joseph castro: avkat rokhel...
tzayah in jerusalem wrote his major work
Evven HaShoham (the onyx stone) - 1538 -
   a year later the book: tzeror ha-chaim discussing
the Talmud: he never really bothered about
the Zohar...
               the hebrai word for "letters": otiot...
divided into two:
                         tav aleph (a line of aleph)
and tav yod (a line of yod)...
                   one is to never concentrate
upon the keter within the realm of the sefirot...
hence the matisyahu expression:
   king without a crown...
                         one example of a "magic" square
later dictated into a 9 x 9 newspaper puzzle?
      2     9     4
      7     5     3
      6     1     8     (up down across = 15...
my date of birth? 15th may 1986,
no coincidence, just stating an oblivion's
worth of a "point)... 15 x 3 = 45...
   and that's about as significant as any
                               insignificance can be...

album of choice?
    old horn tooth - from the ghost grey depths...

and without even associating the arabs
to the hebrai practice of gamatria,
i once inquired an old pakistani (who tried to convert me)
what: Alif, Lam, Meem
implied in the opening of the al-baqarah sutra
implied?
   he replied: god knew...
        so i thought, you don't know what
alif (letter) what lam (letter) and meem (also a letter)
means? you have to search for god
for the answers? good look making me into
a proselyte... mind you:
if the jews abhor proselytes,
while the muslims are so so oh so *******
welcoming... isn't that a tad bit suspicious?
how can a muslim convert me
when he can't explain to me what
alif lam and meem implies at the opening
of al-baqarah?!
            let's play some hijāʾī order game...
and the three letters...
       28 letters in total...
alif (28), lam (6), meem (5)...
    i'm not even going to go into the gamatria
mental gymnsastics related to any
"significance"...
   point was made upon the question being
asked... if a muslim tries to covert you...
and he can't explain to you
the significance of alif lam meem at the beginning
of al-baqarah... they're letters...
well... how is he going to explain to you
what's bothersome about those letters
to begin with? ALM... does that imply: zakat?!
to give alms? zakat being one of the pillars
of islam?
  **** me... i haven't even converted
and it would appear: i know more than the person
who tried to convert me!

.i. Yuri Gagarin and the yo-yo

if ever the potency of a "keyboard crusader"
existed, it's now -
   i can dangle a mouse above a bear-trap
and tell an elephant of a phobia concerning
mice any day of the week,
          when in fact i'm talking about
a mousetrap: nothing more.
     hence the exaggeration in the imagery
comparison:
        or it begins with a story told in the 20th
century:
             when women put down their mascara
brushes, men put down their swords:
never mind the voice in the wilderness:
       mind the voice in the crowd -
there's absolutely no reason to speculate
urbanity and tribal environments without
addressing, or regressing the crowd,
or as i like to call it: what Nietzsche said,
minus the Wake... but now inclusive of the wake
and the Bacchus cult of fun fun fun.
            the Wake in condor terms?
we congregate praying for something to die...
      i don't pretend to be whatever
that sachet of concrete-Cartesian labels entitles me
too:        for the most part
        people say 'i am' without a thought to
govern the rain shaman telling you what thought
is required to 'be', oh, a very old ontological
stipend: you need people to experience a collectivisation,
a herding, a "bound together" sort of mentality
before the critic arrives and says: well, that's not
what i'm really about.
                    a bit like the **** firs, mouth second
debacle...
                but what heart they had, our predecessors!
what heart!
             they'd wage war over a woman,
a Helen,
                  would you wage a war against
the feminist version of Helen these days?
would you pluck a Scottish thistle over an English rose?
      true: you might be a bishop
and of lesser rank... but would you wage a war
over the women of these days?
my **** is in a pickle jar anyway! we have become
a *** of a species unburdened by an obligation...
             finally! we can become eternal bachelors
sort of ******* that we're here, and hear less and less
of sayings about the "things that matter".
            you know what vile? really really vile?
oh i know my contemporaries when i bother to
hear them talk, oddly enough never bother when they
think, i'm quiet content with a Godot stage of
a park bench and an old man as my company,
      i know Douglas Murray,
               i know the wild-eyed Icke,
but a thing that concerns me is why: the safety room
parallel to the leftist thesis of offensive speech
was put in play when a discussion took off
concerning feminism, between milo yiannopoulus
and julie bindel - that's like saying:
ask a pederast to talk for a heterosexual man
with a woman safe-space...
                                no one wants to hear
the heterosexual side of the argument....
  you'll sooner see heterosexual intellects have their
marriages come undone then get paired with either
side of the argument...
     little richard is in the pickle jar anyway,
and he's not coming out...
                it's a bit like ****** for dummies....
       hence i have to succumb to violence without
the glory, tongue waggling blah blah
when i'd gladly take a weapon and shove it into
a shattered cranium bone: had i the ****** chance to
do so!
           no heterosexual is taken seriously:
and won't be:
    of a woman to be like a rosy cushion on which
i can lay my head after the darkly toils of
    roofing, or laying bricks, or excavating the sewers...
no! let the Chinese do that:
the basic argument of slavery, although imported
therefore ****** ******* fine.
                         cryogenic fathers,
      pickled *****:      where's the middle in all of this?
     a coconut just fell from the Boddhi tree:
money!           and those that defend it,
don't know squat about the tribalism of squatters!
but hey! they have the ****** stage!
         i have a bench when someone approaches me
and talk, doing the best thing possible:
               knitting opinions -
i don't want the truth of opinions: i want a sweater,
or a pair of socks! that's metaphor for something
different altogether.
  keyboard crusader? really? can i ask you for
directions to the high street, in every single town
across the country? i can't find one!
         no one hears a heterosexual argument
on the various topics: because there isn't one -
                     as of the end of the 20th century,
working classes in the west striving to ensure
there is something mundane to do during the day
and kick back with the family in the evening
are the "inferior" neanderthals: who
haven't jacked into discovering a 3D reality
of what's otherwise a 2D computer screen and
aren't hooked on #crack;
honestly, so much debating ought to be opera,
and so much opera ought to be debating -
    ah: that famous tingle of utopian paradoxes
never in duality, but always in dichotomy.
   keyboard crusader?
really? i thought people were always moaning
about how many emails they receive:
   and never a single postcard from, say,
someplace like Venice?
           it's still early days,
                   and already we're brewing enough
cliches to replace all known nouns in
    the surrogate mother that's the dictionary
of our completed version of a soul -
if ever to be experienced upon meeting the omni-vocabulary;
jigsaws, i know my idiosyncratic version
of events, he says photosynthesis within parameters
                            of photon deconstruction of hydrogen;
'cos' it's sub; d'uh! i say god i say this perfected
version of nearing telepathy - you say god i hope you
don't mean satan's clause - great anagram to frighten
children with: the Babushka surprise of a Pumpkin head
laughing it's way toward: how easy life would be
if we had all that time to think it through as being hard,
rather than that mortal fleetingness in both thought
and body.

ii. Macbeth

it really dawned on me, when i was watching the film
Macbeth (2015) -
            there was an eeriness to it, a near perfection
of Shakespeare on screen...
           honestly? i'd rather read Kant early on in life
while i have the vigour, and leave old age to Shakespeare...
but it truly was eerie all over the place.
      i do recall seeing Romeo + Juliet
          and reading the script, and imagining the fallacy
of word for word translation from theatre to cinema
of the script: the narrator a news channel anchor,
and everything said, word, for, word.
that film with DiCaprio as Romeo and Claire Danes
as Juliet - it just felt itchy, uncomfortable -
                            Shakespeare, word for word, on screen?!
     (surprise, then astonishment, not !? or astonishment,
   then the surprise, because: it didn't really work);
and it didn't! you can't adapt Shakespeare to the screen
and put everything in! i noticed it at that ******
generous scene in Macbeth concerning the battle
of Ellon... so i was like like... this isn't typescript...
(and thank **** it isn't) -
you can't depict Shakespeare word for word,
to be honest, Macbeth (2015) is the only worthy
translation of Macbeth (the text) into Macbeth (the movie);
all this scientific exactness in previous examples
like Romeo + Juliet, the Merchant of Venice
and a Midsummer's Night Dream don't work,
it's their precision making,
     a theatre cast can take it, but a cinema going crowd,
with all these cutting and copying and repasting
    succinct moments? it doesn't work!
maybe because there's no actual narrator in the staged
examples? narrator as a necessary character understudy:
surely Puck and the news anchor are there:
don't know about the Shylock scenario...
           but these screen adaptations didn't work for me,
too rigid, too formal... in the case of Macbeth?
finally! the long awaited piquant version of Shakespeare:
all that matters, and the rest is thrown into
poetic technique: imagery, metaphor,
                everything that's necessary can be given grammar
as image and not word!
       want an example? from the text...
the Royal Shakespeare
  from the text of Professor Delius
  and introduction by f. j. Furnivall, ll.d.
         vol. v (special edition)
Cassell & Company, Ltd.

        sure, it feels like a Roman Polanski moment
akin to the 9th Gate scenic affair of a bibliophile
fetishist, and it is:

     ... (the only enemy of enso poetry
is the bladder) ...

well the screen play first:

banquo: what are these?
macbeth: live you? or are you aught
                          that man may question?
       speak if you can - what are you?
1st witch: macbeth! hail to thee
                    thane of Glamis!
2nd witch: macbeth... hail to thee,
       thane of Cawdor!
3rd witch: all hail Macbeth! that shalt be king in-after.

but such disparity, such **** as if once
of Lucretia, then of the authority,
for i have before me the original composition:
which is not worth cinema -
nonetheless, a **** takes place:
an assortment for the abdication of a king:
or as ever suggested: the wrong footed path:
never was tossing a coin in a gamble
that of tossing a crown into the air
for a court jester to appear less amusing
and more scolding.

act i, scene iii: post the battle of ellon...
  if ever the refusal to give up Greek myth,
then Macbeth's witches
      and Perseus' Graeae -
                            or naturalise a myth:
like you might not naturalise a strengthened
economy.... canonise the nation
with Elgin Marbles - Elgin: less than
what's said to be the exfoliation of the Aegean -
a municipality somewhere in Scotland:
west of Aberdeen, on the Northern Sea's
battering of the coast...
but word for word? or how to write Shakespeare
into cinema?
                 herr zensor must come into play -
you have to bypass imagery in poetic tongue
and relay it with actual images, a direly needed
necessity:

just after the three witches arrive,
enter Macbeth and Bonquo...

   Macb. so foul and fair a day i have not seen.
Ban. how far is't call'd to Fores? - what are these,
     so wither'd and so wild in their attire,
that look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth,
   and yet are on 't?
             live you? or are you aught that man may
question?

                  (how word for word, but the words
waggle from a different tongue, namely that of
Macbeth, and not that of Banquo, hence
italicised).
                   continuing:
       you seem to understand me,
by each at once her choppy finger laying upon her
skinny lips: - you should be women, and yet your
beards forbid me to interpret that you are so.
Macb. speak, if you can - what are you?
         the witches. all hail, Macbeth!
     hail to thee, thane of Glamis!
         all hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane
of Cawdor!
         all hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter.
            
so does he really belong on the psychoanalytic
couch? is he really that necessarily wonton of talk?
  Cawdor v. Gondor - it's an ongoing narrative.
but is he in need of a couch?
                 what sort of talk is talk when
in fact the only talk that's need to be said is the talk
of man's sexualised naturalisation for strife,
and here: as if knocking on a door:
you want to simply hear the onomatopoeia of
the Kabbalah in a woman gasping for breath
while puny Jewish boys under strict rabbinical
studies study?

                mama, take this badge from  me,
i can't use it, anymore,
            it's getting dark, too dark to see,
feels like i'm knockin' on heaven's door -
      my big mouth and man as a piston
                                               Ferrari acrobat


(even the soundtrack is a shrill, a strangulation
variant of higher pitch of the bagpipes -
not that braveheart ****** of whisking out
a song like for the love of a princess addition to:
  and can i have a madonna to boot too?
it's piercing, a whale sonar above refrigerator
white noise hum for the new age Buddha -
and that's because all the poetry has been excavated
  to suit cinema: not theatre).

and this is the first adaptation of Shakespeare i actually
could stomach...
     the genius was in how Macbeth spoke the lines
of Bonqua - so the character didn't start smacking
the narrative ****** in terms of solipsism:
even Shakespeare can be attacked on this front...
        if in the movie Banqua said all that was in
the typescript: the film wouldn't have worked...
i don't know what the big deal is with Lady Macbeth:
i thought that in the olden days
Macbeth suggested to King Duncan that:
can i leave the warring if you **** my wife?
i can go on the contract that you **** my wife
and i stop serving you?
      first impressions: strange English.
well, i'm sure she's important as it might be said:
within the programme of Orthodoxy,
            but never catholic (metadoxy) tradition of
saying: way hey! ensnare the mare in a funfair!
       and play the game: pin the tale on the donkey!
heads or tails?      it looks pretty damnable
     in the first place: as all honesty hogs to pout and
***** a hoggish sneeze out of the story.

iii. shaken, not stirred

and indeed, how many a times
did not a neon blossom sprout,
thinking it might rattle an oratory
with an oak in autumn, and behold
a swarm of leaves descend -
not out of passing ease,
but out of wishful thinking
that some indentation might be made:
with whom the hands of will reside,
and yet: to no gratifying effect,
to whatever atomic-centralisation
dream, be that ego or be it hydrogen
(lending hands: so too
electric or thus negative, neutral and
thus proto) - shake foundation
and give a revising repertoire of
              the covering dust humanity
that once made famous: never
again to learn the humility of the start;
        to whatever centric dream that
does not waver in demands of orientation,
be it father (sun), son (shadow)
  or the holy spirit (night) -
  make them earn! be obscure!
            or simply say: in the community
of the stated congregation:
  i find all to be as night,
   and safer that plague the father:
  i am not akin to the shadow:
                   but the shadow in mirror.
so, a centric dream that does not
waver in demands for orientation,
has ever or will be enthroned in man's
heart as the stability of Sabbath's demands
       for less, oh so much less to agitate with!
as too, when the ancient appliances
were adorned by countless demands of
mimic, so too our modern
fibbles are to stage a usurping of
such things demanded and their mimic;
for with such disclosure does all fate
of anewed become burdened in what
history could be: shaken,
rather than simply a stirring of the void,
nothing more than the unburdening
of sweetening a cup of coffee, of that and
the layers: or bitter at the top, drank
through toward the sedimented sweetness -
and all that: hoping i could have retained
that silver spoon lodged in my ***
          when i first met her and thought about
consolidating marriage: so fresh, eager prune
of the flesh embodiment as first
    watered ash, then entombed in marble
and the eternal... ah
               but it was all just the faintest of dreams;
so lumberjack sleep ensued,
                      as did a kindred worth ethic:
we are a long way from Eden...
      there is but the idyll of the absurd fruition of
albreit macht frei... or a redefinement of
such stakes as: what occupies our days?
                    if not war, if not disease,
if not the Chinese... what does, occupy our days?
Matt Feb 2015
Form is emptiness
Emptiness is form

1. Sunyata (Emptiness) is the profound meaning of the Mahayana Teaching.

Two thousand five hundred years ago, the Buddha was able to realise "emptiness" (s. sunyata). By doing so he freed himself from unsatisfactoriness (s. dukkha). From the standpoint of enlightenment, sunyata is the reality of all worldly existences (s. dharma). It is the realisation of Bodhi — Prajna. From the standpoint of liberation, sunyata is the skilful means that disentangle oneself from defilement and unsatisfactoriness. The realisation of sunyata leads one to no attachment and clinging. It is the skilful means towards enlightenment and also the fruit of enlightenment.

There are two ways for us to understand this concept of sunyata in the Mahayana context. One way is to try to understand the explanation about its true nature. The other way is the realisation through practice. What we are going to discuss now is about its true nature.

Mahayana teachings have always considered that the understanding of sunyata is an attainment which is extremely difficult and extraordinarily profound.

For example, in the Prajna Sutra it says "That which is profound, has sunyata and non-attachment as its significance. No form nor deeds, no rising nor falling, are its implications."

Again in the Dvadasanikaya Sastra (composed by Nagarjuna, translated to Chinese by Kumarajiva A.D. 408) it says: "The greatest wisdom is the so-called sunyata."

This sunyata, no creation, calmness and extinction (s. nirvana) is of a profound significance in the Mahayana teachings. Why do we see it as the most profound teaching? This is because there is no worldly knowledge, be it general studies, science or philosophy, that can lead to the attainment of the state of sunyata. The only path to its realisation is via the supreme wisdom of an impassionate and discriminating mind. It is beyond the common worldly understanding.

2. The Significance of Sunyata and Cessation

The Buddha always used the terms void, no rising and falling, calmness and extinction to explain the profound meaning of sunyata and cessation. The teachings of the Buddha that were described in words are generally common to worldly understandings. If one interprets the teachings superficially from the words and languages used, one will only gain worldly knowledge and not the deeper implication of the teachings. The teachings of the Buddha have their supra-mundane contexts that are beyond the worldly knowledge.

For example, sunyata and the state of nirvana where there is no rising nor falling, are interpreted by most people as a state of non-existence and gloom. They fail to realise that quite the opposite, sunyata is of substantial and positive significance.

The sutras often use the word "great void" to explain the significance of sunyata. In general, we understand the "great void" as something that contains absolutely nothing. However, from a Buddhist perspective, the nature of the "great void" implies something which does not obstruct other things, in which all matters perform their own functions. Materials are form, which by their nature, imply obstruction. The special characteristic of the "great void" is non-obstruction. The "great void" therefore, does not serve as an obstacle to them. Since the "great void" exhibits no obstructive tendencies, it serves as the foundation for matter to function. In other words, if there was no "great void" nor characteristic of non-obstruction, it would be impossible for the material world to exist and function.

The "great void" is not separated from the material world. The latter depends on the former. We can state that the profound significance of sunyata and the nature of sunyata in Buddhism highlights the "great void’s" non-obstructive nature.

Sunyata does not imply the "great void". Instead, it is the foundation of all phenomena (form and mind). It is the true nature of all phenomena, and it is the basic principle of all existence. In other words, if the universe’s existence was not empty nor impermanent, then all resulting phenomena could not have arisen due to the co-existence of various causes and there would be no rising nor falling. The nature of sunyata is of positive significance!

Calmness and extinction are the opposite of rising and falling. They are another way to express that there is no rising and falling. Rising and falling are the common characteristics of worldly existence. All phenomena are always in the cycle of rising and falling. However, most people concentrate on living (rising). They think that the universe and life are the reality of a continuous existence.

Buddhism on the other hand, promotes the value of a continuous cessation (falling). This cessation does not imply that it ceases to exist altogether. Instead, it is just a state in the continuous process of phenomena. In this material world, or what we may call this "state of existence", everything eventually ceases to exist. Cessation is definitely the home of all existences. Since cessation is the calm state of existence and the eventual refuge of all phenomena, it is also the foundation for all activities and functions.

The Amitabha Buddha who was, and is, revered and praised by Buddhists around the world, radiates indefinite light and life from this "state of cessation". This state is a continuous process of calmness. It will be the eventual refuge for us all. If we think carefully about the definitions of calmness and extinction, then we can deduce that they are the true natural end-points of rising and falling. The true nature of the cycle of rising and falling is calmness and extinction. Because of this nature, all chaos and conflicts in the state of rising and falling will eventually cease. This is attainable by the realisation of prajna.

3. Contemplating the Implications of Sunyata and Stillness (Nirvana) by Observing Worldly Phenomena

All existences exhibit void-nature and nirvana-nature. These natures are the reality of all existence. To realise the truth, we have to contemplate and observe our worldly existence. We cannot realise the former without observing the latter. Consider this Heart Sutra extract, "Only when Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva practised the deep course of wisdom of Prajna Paramita did he come to realise that the five skandhas (aggregates, and material and mental objects) were void."

Profound wisdom leads us to the realisation that all existences are of void-nature. The sutras demonstrate that the profound principle can be understood by contemplating and observing the five skandhas. We cannot realise the truth by seeking something beyond the material and mental world. The Buddha, using his perfect wisdom, observed worldly existence from various implications and aspects, and came to understand all existences.

In summary, there are three paths to this observation:

a) We should observe the preceding state and the current state of conditions. i.e., Observation according to the concept of time.

b) We should observe existences according to their interrelationships. i.e., Observation via the concept of space (either two or three-dimensions).

c) We should observe the true nature of all myriad beings. This is like observing the worldly existences of a point, a line and an area. Those with supreme wisdom understand the true nature of all worldly existences by observing vertically the relationships between the preceding and current conditions, and horizontally the interrelationships. Then we can understand the true meaning of void-nature and nirvana-nature.

3.1 By observing the preceding-stage and the current-stage conditions, we can verify the Law of Impermanence of all worldly existences. All existences, be they material or mental, be they the material world, or the physical or mental states of sentient beings, are subject to continuous change.

The world may have certain states of beings where they stay static or are in equilibrium on a temporary basis (for example hibernation). But when we observe them with supreme wisdom, we will find that not only do they keep changing on a yearly basis, but also that this change applies to even every briefest moment. After the current state of conditions have ceased to exist, the newly-formed state materialises. This is the state of rising and falling. The rising and falling of each small moment reveals that all existences are ever-moving and ever-changing.

Conventional scholars have a very good explanation of these ever-changing worldly conditions. However they, including the practitioners of dharma, try to make sense of the reality from the ever-changing worldly existences. That is, they are fooled by the material existences and are not able to understand the deeper truth of all existences.

Only those with the supreme wisdom of the Buddha and Mahabodhisattvas realise and understand that all existences are illusions. They understand that existences are not real from the observation of the flow of changing existences. The numerous illusionary existences may well be diverse and confusing, arising and decaying. But when we look into their true nature, we will find them void and of nirvana-nature.

On the other hand, since all existences are of nirvana-nature, they appear from the perspective of time, to be ever-changing. They never stay the same even for the briefest moment. Impermanence implies existences do not have a permanent entity. This is another implication of the nature of sunyata and stillness.

3.2 From observations of existence via inter-relationships, we can conclude that nothing is independent of the Law of Causation, and that everything is without ego. For example, the Buddha explains that the individual sentient being is composed of physical, physiological and psychological phenomena. The so called ego is a deluded illusion which does not exist in reality. Its existence depends on the combination of both physical and mental factors. It is a union of organic phenomena. Thus we call it the empirical ego. It is a mistake to cling to it as an infatuated ego.

The Indian concept of the supreme spirit implies someone who rules. The spirit is the ruler who is independent of is self-dependent and all causes. In other words, the spirit is the one who is free from all primary and secondary causes (for physical and mental aspects). The spirit is the one who has the soul of his own body and mind. This is the ego or supreme spirit that the theologists cling to. From their view point, the only way to avoid physical and mental decay is to be self-determined and self-sovereign. In this way, the supreme being can stay permanent in the cycle of reincarnation, and return to the absolute reality by liberating himself from life and death.

But from the profound contemplation and wisdom of the Buddha and Mahabodhisattvas, we know there is no such reality. Instead, egolessness (non-self) is the only path to understand the reality of the deluded life. All existences are subject to the Law of Causes and Conditions. These include the smallest particles, the relationship between the particles, the planets, and the relationship between them, up to and including the whole universe! From the smallest particles to the biggest matter, there exists no absolute independent identity.

Egolessness (non-self) implies the void characteristics of all existence. Egolessness (non-self) signifies the non-existence of permanent identity for self and existence (Dharma). Sunyata stresses the voidness characteristic of self and existence (Dharma). Sunyata and egolessness possess similar attributes. As we have discussed before, we can observe the profound significance of sunyata from the perspective of inter-dependent relationships. Considering dharma-nature and the condition of nirvana, all existences are immaterial and of a void-nature. Then we see each existence as independent of each other. But then we cannot find any material that does exist independent of everything else. So egolessness also implies void-nature!

3.3 From the observation of all existences, we can infer the theory of nirvana and the complete cessation of all phenomena. From the viewpoint of phenomena, all existences are so different from each other, that they may contradict each other. They are so chaotic. In reality, their existence is illusionary and arises from conditional causation. They seem to exist on one hand, and yet do not exist on the other. They seem to be united, but yet they are so different to one another. They seem to exist and yet they do cease! Ultimately everything will return to harmony and complete calmness. This is the nature of all existence. It is the final resting place for all. If we can understand this reality and remove our illusions, we can find this state of harmony and complete calmness.

All our contradictions, impediments and confusion will be converted to equanimity. Free from illusion, complete calmness will be the result of attaining nirvana. The Buddha emphasised the significance of this attainment and encouraged the direct and profound contemplation on void-nature. He said, "Since there is no absolute self-nature thus every existence exhibits void-nature. Because it is void, there is no rising nor falling. Since there is no rising nor falling, thus everything was originally in complete calmness. Its self-nature is nirvana."

From the viewpoint of time and space, we can surmise that all existences are impermanent, all existences have no permanent self, and nirvana is the result of the cessation of all existences - the Three Universal Characteristics. But there are not three different truths. Instead, they are the characteristics of the only absolute truth and the ultimate reality. This is the explanation of Dharma-nature and the condition of nirvana. The three characteristics are the one characteristic, and vice versa!

We may cultivate our meditation, contemplating the impersonality of all existences. This will lead us to enlightenment via the path of voidness. Contemplating nirvana and complete calmness leads to enlightenment by the path of immaterial form. Contemplating the impermanence of all existences, leads us to enlightenment by the path of inactivity (no desire).

The Three Universal Characteristics are the other implications of Dharma-nature and nirvana. The paths to enlightenment are also the same cause of absolute reality. All of them return to the Dharma-nature and the condition of nirvana. In short, the teachings of the Buddha start from the observation and contemplation of all worldly phenomena. They are like thousands of streams of water competing with each other, and flowing from the top of the mountains to the bottom. Eventually, all of them return to the ocean of voidness and nirvana.

4. Sunyata and Cessation is the Truth (Nature) of All Existences.

All existences that are recognised by worldly understanding, whether materially, spiritually or intellectually, have always been misunderstood by us. We cling to them as real, physically existing and permanent. Actually, they are only unreal names.

The more precise meaning of the term "unreal name" is "assumption" or "hypothesis". It is an empirical name. It is formed by the combination of various causes and effects. (These include the effects of mental consciousness.) It does not exist by itself. Everything exists relatively. Thus, what is the ultimate truth? If we investigate existence further, we realise that all existences are empty. This is the fundamental characteristic and reality of all existence. It is ultimate and absolute. But we should not think that empty means nothing. It implies the disentanglement from the worldly misunderstanding of the existence of self, identity, and the realisation of the absolute.

In the Sutras and Abhidharma, the worldly understandings are sometimes referred to as all phenomena (Dharma). Sunyata is referred to as "Dharma-nature", and hence there is a distinction between "phenomena" and "Dhamma-nature". However, this is only an expedient explanation that helps us to realise the truth of sunyata through the phenomena of all existences.

We should not think that "existence" and "nature"; or the "phenomena of Dharma" and "Dharma-nature" are something contradictory. They are just concepts needed to understand the implication of sunyata.

We may analyse the exp
Ayad Gharbawi Dec 2009
THE STORY OF SARA

Ayad Gharbawi


CHAPTER 2: UNIVERSITY

  
  Well, I did study and, I did pass my exams, and I did succeed in ending up in a decent, upper class school!
  How did I pay for it? I hear you ask me?
  I didn't: I got a scholarship!
  And, what a new world I faced!
  What a totally different society I saw!
  I felt that I was in another country, for I never knew that there existed, from my own people, men and women such as those I encountered!
  My studies in psychiatry really excited me: I thought that I would be able to 'solve' anyone's mental problems.
  All I had to do, was to study and study as feverishly as I could.
Studying furiously, and with love and passion, was the key to success.
  Study, and then you pass your examinations, and then you become a doctor in psychiatry - and I would thereby become successful.
  I would then be someone important.
  I would be respected by everyone.
  My life would have a purpose and a meaning because I would be going in the correct path.
It was simple as that!
  And what was the alternative?
  Not to study?
  And what would I do then?
  Go do a menial, low paying job?
  That was anathema to me!
  It made me sick, to even think about that!
  Why?
  Because, I came from a poor background, and I lived in poverty, and I saw the culture and the people who lived in poverty, and by God, I don’t want to ever live in those circumstances ever again in my life.
  What was poverty to me?
  Your house is ugly; your neighbourhood is ugly; your neighbours are the most indecent people you can imagine.
  The area you live in, swarms with people who live their lives in ‘anti-social behaviour’!
  And what’s ‘anti-social behaviour’?
  That means your community is one, where most people are drunks in  public, where fights, with guns and knives, are an everyday occurrence; where the most filthy language is the norm in public; where ******* covers large parts of the town; where vandalism and damage to cars and property is another daily occurrence; where people play ear-deafening music in the streets and there’s nothing you can do – because, if you call the police, they’ll obey, but then they’ll come back and make hell out of your life – in other words, the gangs rule the community.
  Aren’t those enough reasons to get out of poverty?!
  And, then for me, there are other things that are really important to me.
  For example:
  I mean, who is going to respect you, if you have a menial job? Who is going to look up at you?
  Who is going to listen to your words, when you speak?
  And, most importantly, are you yourself going to be happy with your self and with your life, if you had a menial job?
  Of course not!
  To be a fully satisfied human, you need to live in respectable surroundings with a respectable job.
  Otherwise, there cannot be happiness for you.

  Once I joined my university, I encountered mostly upper class students.
  That’s why, I say it was like ‘another world’ for me, because I had never encountered people like that before!
  Their dress was different; their accent and they way they spoke was different; but what interested me the most, was the fact, that their intellectual interests were extremely varied, as opposed to the people that I had grown up with and knew – those people whose only interests, were getting drunk, practicing promiscuity, crime and drugs!
  Now outside classes, I got began to get involved with different groups of academic students – each group held differing ideas about the world, politics, economics, philosophy of life - and any other subject you can imagine.
  I was never interested in what I called the other 'superficial' groups; that is, those who discussed what I considered to be the stupidities of life, such as fashion, make up, cars, sports and so on. No way; not for me, were people like that!
  For I was far too serious for such mind-wasting people, and, frankly life-wasting people.
  No, I wanted to learn; my God how utterly hungry and thirsty and deadly serious about acquiring more and more knowledge on every 'serious' subject I was - so that, one day, I would be a useful and productive human to society!
  If I was not in my classes, and if I was not listening to those intellectuals, I would sit on any desk and search the internet and read endlessly, on any and every 'serious' subject.

With respect to my classes, as the months rolled over, I began to feel, and think, that my professors were not all that smart at all. I began to feel that they were, in fact, quite ordinary, dull people. But then, I grappled with next obvious question: if they were 'ordinary' and 'dull' people, then how come they were professors – and by 'professors', I mean that they must be far from 'ordinary'? Surely, any person, who is able to be a professor, must be intelligent?
  And yet, the more I listened and took down notes from these professors, and the more I analyzed their words and ideas, the more I became convinced at their emptiness and stupidity!
  My God, you must believe me, for they were talking utter *******!
  Well, who exactly, 'made' them professors?
  I began to dislike them.
  Then, the obvious consequences took place in my mind: the more I disliked them, the less I paid attention to their words and that, in turn, increased my boredom in class!
  No, this was a complete and utter waste of time for me. Yes, I would still need to read the text books given to us by the university, and I would need to understand these books in order to pass the examinations.
  But, I was also determined to do my own independent psychiatry studies, in order to find the ways and means of solving people's emotional problems.

I found it really thrilling to see so many students having so many ideas about the world, because, for me it was so utterly unusual to see young people actually caring about so many issues in our lives!
  You had the conservatives; socialists; Dadaists, existentialists, communists of every shade you can imagine; fascists, socialists, liberals, Nazis, monarchists, Hare Krishnas, Hindus, Budhists, yoga-followers, animal rights campaigners, environmentalists, religious fundamentalists, anarchists  - the list was quite endless to the point of absurdity for, within each group, there were sub-groups, that ranged from the so-called 'left' to the so-called 'right'.
  However, in all this confusion and chaos, there were, at least two things, that you knew for certain: and that was, firstly; that no group agreed with any other group, whilst secondly; every 'leader' of any group sincerely and passionately believed that, yes they, and only they, had all the answers to all the questions that faced our dear Humanity!

But with time, it dawned on me that that most of these intellectual students were not quite what I expected of them.
They would passionately discuss any subject and in excruciating detail!
  To me not every subject was worthy of being discussed!
  Everything was criticized in university.
  Everything was questionable.
  Nothing was certain.
  On the opposite these students believed that they had a duty to deeply philosophise and intricately analyse and scrutinize from every angle every subject and issue in our planet!
  Nothing was accepted and nothing was taken for granted.
  And it was exhausting to listen to them!
  I say ‘exhausting’ because after every meeting, I would actually feel emptier!
  I simply did not learn or gain anything from all these endless discussions!
  So they would analyse issues like: what is the soul?
  What is the difference between the soul and the spirit?
  Where is the soul located?
  Where is the mind located?
  What is the difference between bravery and foolishness?
  Are mathematical facts like 1+1=2 discovered or created by mathematicians?
  What does the word ‘the’ mean?
  What does the word ‘a’ mean?
  Who has a right to create rules and laws?
  How much taxes should each adult pay?
  Is the universe finite or infinite?

  And so it went on and on until your brain became numb with the deafening boredom and pointlessness of it all.
  What irritated me the most was that with these groups of students, was that nothing was sacred.
  Nothing was certain.
On the opposite, everything was completely uncertain.


  As for myself, I gradually gravitated to the leftists – that mixture of socialists, communists, anarchists and other such-like groups.
  Why?
  Because to me their philosophy was more or less simple.
  There wasn’t all that endless series of critiques and analysis that so nearly damaged my brains!
  Their idea was simple: we had to removed the oppressors.
And the oppressors was anyone who had power and influence.
  And what kind of society did we want?
  A purely egalitarian one where there would be neither master nor slave.
  Simple!
  Here I found that much needed sense of certainty!
  Here was an ideal, a philosophy that had strict rules that we were meant to follow in order to achieve our sacred aims!
  

  I was immediately attracted to one student leader, Tony, who passionately urged his listeners to use any means necessary – except violence –in order to achieve our goals of total equality within our society.
  He was a tall man of average weight, with short hair – actually, let me immediately stop myself here - because actually there was absolutely and totally nothing remarkable about the way he looked; but what really made him so attractive was in his personal charm, and the way he spoke, with such a theatrical ability, that made you unable to move as long as he talked.
  I can still see him, as he gracefully gesticulated in such an animated manner, giving further power and reason, to every word and idea he uttered:
  "Can't you see and feel what is going all around you? My friends, listen to my words, because we are living in a society that is dominated by greed and ultimately misery and death on an everyday scale. Why is the dustman paid any less than a doctor? Aren't we all human beings, born free and equal? And, so, if you, my friends, agree with me that all men, women and children, are equal, then it should make obvious sense to you that we should all live equally. Do you feel what I am saying to your hearts, or not?!" he would thunder at us, with his face contorting from the passion, and with his ability to be so majestic and, yet, so utterly humble at the same moment!
  Yes, I began to think more and more about what Tony had to say.    Why was there poverty in the first place?
  Where was Humanity?


  Indeed, aren't we all equal human beings; so why this discrimination? It seemed so sensible to me; and yet, what was I, Sara the Nobody, doing about this problem?
  Nothing, of course.
  Yes, I was just a student – but I was not actively working against the dark forces, as Tony was always talking about.
  Tony would mesmerize his listeners, which were usually held in the evenings, at around eight o'clock.
  He always managed to talk to you directly – or so it felt, despite the large number of listeners.
  "There are people who make millions in minutes – did you people know that?  While most people in our society struggle and sweat not only tears, but, I tell you, they sweat blood – yes blood" he would scream at this point, "day in and day out, and getting paid next to nothing, you also have a minority who make millions in minutes!   How can you, yes you, tell me that that is fair? Why do you, my listeners, why do you lamely accept, that we live in a society that allows conditions, whereby the majority, and I say the vast majority of human beings, men and women, have to bleed to death just, to pay their never ending bills, while a minority lead an easy life overflowing with money, glamour, power and luxuries that are indescribable? I ask you again and again to answer my questions: is that fair? And if it is not fair, then what should be done about this sick situation? Well, clearly, we must use violence to take our rights, because no democracy will allow our party to succeed in any election and obviously the rich will never voluntarily give up their oceans of wealth; therefore, if you ask me, what is to be done, I firmly tell you as my response, that we must fight for our eternal rights, and by using the verb 'fight', I mean we 'fight' with every weapon at our disposal – be they words or bullets!"
  I was simply exhilarated by his symphony of words!
  And yet, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something ‘missing’ in Tony’s personality.  
  He just didn’t have that supreme self assurance that others had.
  I guess that was what was ‘missing’.
  I couldn’t understand why he did have that degree of insecurity – because, it seemed to be a contradiction when you are living your life for an ideal, and at the same time, you have insecurities within your heart!

  It was also at university, that I first met Sanji.
  He was a tall, dark wavy haired man with a dark complexion.  His beautifully oval eyes had a deeply pensive look, and at the same time, they were always somehow mired within a sorrowful gaze.
  Even when he would talk to you, Sanji's eyes seemed to be far away, deep in thought, about God knows what subject!
  Gracing his eyes, were beautifully arched eyebrows and the longest, thickest eyelashes I have ever seen, that beautifully complimented those seemingly lonely eyebrows in perfect harmony.
  He was a quiet, soft spoken gentleman, who was the most polite and sincere man I had ever met – I would forever ask myself, how can this man, be so gentle and compassionate, and without seeming to get distressed, angry or anxious?!
  He had such a depth of serenity in his personality – and that trait was something that made so utterly envious of him; I was constantly wishing and trying to have a millionth of that serenity of his.
  He was utterly sure of himself – and not in any arrogant way. He was completely happy and secure with the ideas and principles which guided him throughout his life.
  He had a complete knowledge as to what the purpose of his life was. As a result he knew exactly where he was going with his life.
  There was no sense of being lost with Sanji; for he knew the endless, twisted, meandering number of Paths of Life ahead of him - and more importantly he knew which path he wanted to tread on in his life’s journey.
  He would never use foul language; and would always listen to you with interest as you talked – which is rare in our world.
  And he had that most beautiful ability and talent to be so extra careful in choosing his words when he spoke, for he always wanted to get his thoughts and ideas properly across to you, so that people would understand him well, and so that there would be no confusion as to what he stood for.
  That's why he was so pensive and why he spoke so deliberately; there was never any impulsiveness on his part; he intended exactly every word, and exactly every phrase, and every sentence he used; there never was any carelessness on his part when he would interact with you.


  I never met a man who was so wholly and totally considerate for the feeling
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
i write about these things,
because in all honesty?
they don't matter to me.

you can call it assimilation, then you'll call it
   i'm making a worded salad, so it doesn't really matter
whether i speak the language or not,
being native you'll tell me i have to be a diacritically
riddled over-laden version of you  nativeness...
you'll basically tell me i have to speak a worse-off
native than you didn't bother to grasp...
after that? i turn Sioux and scalp you.
  because that's what you deserve.
i could have come up against you
in the thick of night and turned you into a kebab,
and do you think anyone would have
cared? is it one thing to assimilate,
and another to assimilate into a skin-head culturalism
implosive that's brimming to the full with your patriotic
hopes as being acted upon? i can speak the perfect
English and still be more welcome in Scotland
than in Kent... but that will not not do,
not until i shave my hair off,
grow a beard, and runsack my skin
with quasi-Hindu ******* tilts...
           and when this foreign legion
of Swedish journalists bemoan why
their **** ain't where their heart is?
have you seen the *sienkiewicz"
trilogy of *potop
? you want history?
how about: in the beginning
there was an invading horde of Swedes
that tried to topple the proto-commonwealth
of Poland and Lithuania...
  even how much i cared to learn the tongue:
i'd be left belittled by ugly accenting
stereotypes...
                          i'd be Islam of drunk,
while the engineers would be left saying:
and unto us amphetamines,
and Mamelukes were never Egyptian...
because Egypt was what Egypt desired...
a quasi thingy... then i turned my ear
to Macbeth, and earned 70 years
and a Spartacus' worth of ears to my nearing 31...
                   i turned to Macbeth the theatricals
silences, and let, the music... play.
i can learn the language, but i am expected
to push the natives from a career of criminality,
i am expected to become the criminal,
i've learned the language beyond the natives,
what else?
   to learn the debasement of the natives akin to
every other culture? am i to become the
criminal statistic of the ruling political elite?
so they can "know" but that they merely quote?
   i owe my ode to Macbeth,
for Hamlet can become tiresome aligned with
Sisyphus in hell...
              we'll have builders by the end of
the debate...
     how much more do i have to learn?
is language not enough? then velkommen Syriac!
               is it not enough that i know the tongue?
must i be jeopardised by using it,
and say that universality is to be excluded,
simply because it does not abide by an utopian
ideal of pure English sprechen pure English?
         there are scapegoats to be festering upon
the spike that's readied to be fried...
but come on... is this deutschesprechen?
              it can't be! if i pretend to be Malcolm...
you pretend to be Duncan,
but nonetheless the speech makes us both truant
ghouls and guises receding
   into the demands of operatic - kindred to
Lady Macbeth (a protestant, or should she be
known catholic: McBeth) -
      as Glasgow religion of the coliseum of the times
testifies... celt and ranger... green & white vs. blue and
   black...
     lady mc.: what beast was 't thou,
        that make you break this enterprise with me?
(no matter if you killed a man, of whatever
stature he be worth, what beast are you to suddenly
cage my heart, when having agreed to make my heart
and feeling thus: storm the heights of Ben Nevis,
and descend as angrily as a woman might please,
  and with her whim, descend from the mountain
as if a mountain descends into desert?! what
courage, ye! to throw a woman into such woe
and leave a man's promise, the very least
a man can bestow upon this earth: but a woman
yet to come to correct!) so thus the elvish Anglican
was spoken, and thus continued:
- when you durst do it, then you were a man;
   and, to be more than what you were, you would
be so much more the man. nor time, nor place,
did then adhere, and yet you would make both...
  from his boneless gums...
nor have i understood Hamlet as the model student,
the puppet if not the mere mascot...
for the Freudian couch... then again i navigated
past Kant with Macbeth,
having yet to complete reading the critique...
       i took to maturity, and said
what others wished upon: there is true
adult agony in a well versed poetry...
       more so than adolescence in what's deemed
a maturation process...
             perhaps i should have served the concern
for Hamlet and laid bare upon the psychoanalytic
couch... but Macbeth: of said
sepia as copper, so said of woad as in aquamarine
surrender... led me to cite...
          for i was never bound to own the tongue
i would acquire... i was told:
   well, hello there, dishonourable squire...
ah... the queen's majestic airs...
    will make any Irishman desist from the republic's
gaze...
             and sloth in a respectably believed state
of consolidatory affairs under the kites of Yates...
   but never you mind the Silesian consumed
by former guardian of the coalmine...
or what L'vov wouldn't say in Ukrainian...
mind you Nevada and Lasso Vegan...
mind you that...  for that speaks biblical studies!
i will never assimilate, in that i will never be
allowed to own this tongue...
            and if i am allowed to own it...
i am but a furry-faced-bloat of faked pleasantries
   and closet nationalism...
        i wish i could own this language as if i
might own a typewriter... but i'm apparently
not welcome, by the pseudo-irish who
mediate the English assertion of the understanding
of the dover sieve...
                 ******* leprechaun mafia...
  paddy paddy oo too the butch-faced freckled girl...
   it's as if the Italians have Manhattan,
    and the Corke conglomerate prescribed
everyone a pint of Guinness rather than iron-pill
supplements...
                 well: and so the Titanic bellows
out an oceanic morse code of tantrums on
the accordions.
                      which sorta soothed the mermaids
digest contemplation for the vegan accomplishment
of shrimp... and over seafoods...
being digested.
         now i'm apparently not speaking English,
or i'm speaking English and i don't understand it,
or i'm understanding how i'm speaking English,
and how i'm supervising all things uranium
                               bound hallucinogenic...
or how, even though urbanity took off and
the countryside disappeared, you think you'll never
meet peasants in smirk attire to condescend you
gravity toward theatre or opera...
     but peasants are reall... you can recognise a peasant
the minute they don't recognise you insulting them;
it's a bit like telling a very witty joke...
         i don't get witty jokes because i tend to treat them
like a siegl heigl salutation...
   and i respect the memory of Octavian...
                                 it's the wittiness that comes into
contact with actually not telling a joke: and people
end up laughing... that's when you spot the peasants.
    so you see... i speak the ****** language,
but i'm sorta denied the access for drinking a cosmopolitan
at a Shoreditch pub...
                        which makes all arguments
for learning the language obsolete in terms of gaining
a "fair" advantage... and this is European to
European lingo...
        didn't i ask that Swedish journalist
ingrid carlqvist to watch the trilogy, including
potop about the war between Sweden and
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth, and ask her
about what's to be culturally inherited?
**** me... maybe i'm sleepwalking...
                     dodo zombified or something...
                                     oh wait...
                                         if ever there was a regressive
reparation policy in a country:
i'd hear: guilt from western countries taking the bribes
of the Marshall Plan...
      and overt pride from countries post-world-war ii
being prescribed communism, as a way to rebuild
their nations: for fear of having to commit to
hara kiri... or *******...
                                         as said: becoming
the easily bribed convenience...
                              the concept of assimilation
within the construct of selective migration has transcended
the mere acquisition of language...
  acquiring a language isn't enough...
         the reverse policy of colonialism is hushed-down
ethnic cleansing...
          which goes beyond language per se,
since it goes beyond dialect ex lingua...
              it is a necessitation of also acquiring
national stereotypes of unengaged in dialectics...
it is one thing to rhetorically assert a need to debate,
and another to understand that dialectics ≠ debate;
but rather a service to prompt and engage thinking,
rather than debating... dialectics is an art-form,
     it's intended to encourage thinking,
rather than the continuum of polarised / schizoid
debating: debates never accomplish a convergence...
whereas dialectics is intended to establish
a convergent pinpoint... as Socrates said unto the young,
so i find myself talking to old men and being
in accordance to have shared a park bench,
one sunny afternoon at the nadir of summer.
                why is it that acquiring language is not
enough these days?
       or why is it that a poor acquisition of a language,
or acquiring a language without correcting
accentuated stresses particular to a tongue
are given a freer access to labour, then
acquiring a language to a standardisation of
mimic localisation, and fence: a faking of
a faking (ad infinitum) or locality?
i.e. overly-successful assimilation?
             overly-successful assimilation is punished!
   it is punished by speaking as a fluent native
might... but having no discriminatory biases
that could enable one to be completely native...
and this is punishable!
             by a stance that it's a robotics project,
that one is nothing more than an a.i. enterprise...
even those dearest to me acknowledge me
as a robot... an a.i.,
           but they can't seem to understand that
artificial intelligence, and authentic intelligence
cannot be superficial intelligence of
natives... for the natives have a placebo
to what is otherwise a Pompeii resurrection
to the volcano-dynamic of analysing-ergo-synthesising
           ana ergo syn           which
constructs the opposite of thesis and antithesis,
given that the equation combines two adequate prefixes,
ana- and syn-...
                      "against" therefore "with".
isn't that how we cling to social pressures
or prejudices and still accumulate 8 billion examples
of a comparative e.g. that's a John Smith?
     i have yet to come across a contemporary that
might become as if fatherly...
   i just see opportunist buckling down the M25 of
encircling nothing more than a venture into
gaining a quick buck... and it could, it could
almost be sad... but it's not...
              it took me almost 13 years of synthesising
the English language: synthesising i.e.
mimicking - before i started analysing it...
      and when i say the groundwork for any
theory on the subconscious is to focus on grammar
and grammatical word interjections into
a Joycean stream-of-consciousness...
                              for that's worth the upper-tier
working from the sub-level...
                          of utilising language:
then the unconscious is far from dreaming...
it's equivalent in seeing how i acquired a language
at the age of 8 to synthesise / mimic what the children
around me were saying...
   but that it took me so long to analyse the language...
which the children around me acquired within
a reflexive bias to later strand such reflexiveness into
a divergence of calling their angular retraction
philosophy, linguistics, poetry, psychology...
whole all i had to do is to appropriate a reflective bias to
later strand such reflectiveness as to say:
of my mother i say polski, of my father i say:
             ojczym - and i can reflect upon him,
foremostly his diacritical lack of the wriggling-blagger's
economisation, when due coinage is needed.
Katie Price
Had a collection
Of last season's
Brassieres
Which she indexed
With the help
Of a sincere
Bilingual reindeer
Dressed in spandex
Who for some reason
Was single.

Taxonomy
Is so important to me
Said Katie.

So they were labelled
And kept in taxis
At disused angle grinder factories
Near the Tower of Babel
So posterity
Would be able
To analyse
The finer points
Of her physiognomy.

Quite an unusual praxis
And something of an anomaly
For someone like me
Wouldn't you agree?

Cross my heart
And hope to die
I agree.
aviisevil Jun 2018
Gandalf: a character ( wizard) from the legend that is lord of the rings
...

chapter - 0:



he was walking past the useless lake on a breezy autumn day when the gust of wind brought with it the scent of a thousand abandoned garage bags littering the corner of this semi unorganised semi-civilised halli part of a mega city.

his home was about three thousand kilometres away and a dozen hundred dialects removed from where he chose to pursue his 'higher' education.

a term he took literally and to heart.

he was almost always high, if that's what you call being semi awake and always clawing somewhere deep, both mentally and sometimes even physically.


but as soon as the cacophony of a thousand different bad smells hit his soul, he knew the trip was over.

he jolted back to existence from an escalating thought process leading him to the discovery of a new and a better universe.

he took a deep breath and immediately regretted his decision, almost screaming in horror.

and while he was battling a lost battle trying to defeat an invisible and impossible to contain force of population and pollution,

his smoked eyes latched onto a figure emerging from the corner of his smoked eyes.

he suddenly realised where he was. and it wasn't where he thought he was about two seconds ago.

leaf-less and life-less trees stood where he could swear was just an empty slightly orange and red sky a few milli moments ago  

the lake had turned from blue to a shade of green or was it still blue ?
he wasn't interested at all, so he just gave up reasoning in mid-process..

what difference does it make ?

but suddenly his mellowed mind  realised the threat, and his attitude changed from i-don't-really-give-a-**** to oh-****.

there was something else there too, and he, like a ******* cat- turned around just in time to see what it was,

and the time stood still. he couldn't believe his eyes.

it was    gandalf.

**** it. he was sure. ******* gandalf.
with a ******* stick, his beard and that grey whatever. gandalf.

he took a deep breath again. it didn't hurt as bad as before. maybe it was growing on him. he took another breath just to make sure it wasn't. it wasn't.


and as gandalf started becoming bigger and bigger, he could see his mighty white beard dancing in the wind more clearly. he could sense his aura radiating a wonderful positive force that was almost impossible to describe with a naked eye and with an F  in communication skills.

gandalf was finally a stone throw away from the boy. he could throw a stone at him. he could but he wouldn't. no, he thought about it but no. it wouldn't make sense. it was too insane of an idea too. he wasn't yet ready to accept his true human nature that enjoyed the absurdity of violence.

though he was a hard-core stoner.  ah irony and puns.


instead he took the more scenic route and almost mumbled " gandalf?! what?!?! "


it took the old white man a second to register but he managed a sudden " gand elf, what?!? "

it wasn't awkward yet. but it was india. so it kinda' was.

the boy almost trained in apologising professionally and profoundly, mumbled " oh, no.. I'm sorry.. I just.. you know.. there's this .. dude.. people do cosplays now.. and I was a little high... ahem.. I mean I was thinking.. I mean I saw.. you.. I mean, I swear you're looking like a ******* gandalf.. I mean gandalf ?!?! "


another gust of wind and they both frowned.

gandalf responded " who .. what the **** is gand elf ?!?!"


the boy " he was supposed to be a dwarf like something.. but he become a wizard and tall, you know .. fought a dragon.. and rode giant birds.. ?!?! "


not gandalf " what the **** are you talking about, what is wrong with you, you're not making any ******* sense and I, I'm .. hey, you see.. just saying, I'm very good at making sense, that all "


the boy " so, are you like a ******* teacher or a .. scientist?!? "


not gandalf? "ummm.. well you can say that.. something like that "


the boy " what do you mean, for all I know you could be a perverted ******* who also happens to wander the woods doing weird cosplays and killing people. "

not gandalf " the ****, kid ?! jeez.. simmer down.. that TV is insane, you guys ******* love it.. **** man.. I should have stopped that from happening... and video games! god, they ****.. I should have just killed the lot of you.. " and on went a rant the strange man


the boy " wo.. wo.. whoa.. wait, you're talking like you are better than the rest of us...are you on crack ? what are you even saying you ***... you're more like someone who pulls on broken strings on a hand down guitar on some shady corner of an immaculate subway... you're just a boomer, are you not, mister ? "


strange man not gandalf " well, in a way I am.. I am.. well, I am everything and everyone" he whispered..    a satisfying smile almost breaking out


the boy " the ******* mean ******* ?!? "

this was too much for the old man who was just having a walk and minding his own business

he whispered more angrily his time " oh you punk, you little punk I'll tell you! I'm ******* god, you **** .. yeah, **** it.. I'm not even kidding.. I'm ******* god, yeah!... **** it *****!. "


he took his hand and pointed to the sky and the clouds parted.


the boy couldn't believe his eyes, and almost suddenly the clouds began to form a shape.

he couldn't make it out at first, all he could see was that the old man who claimed to be a god, drawing something in the air.

he looked up and finally realised what it was.

God was drawing a giant duck in the sky.

and as he was staring up in a mixture of disbelief and horror,  the old man spoke loudly " that's you.. you sick ****.. it's your little duck. "


old-man-now-god-went on "... I mean it looks like a big duck 'cause you couldn't see it otherwise.. but drawing to ratio... it's your little duck.. and the whole world can see it now.. and they know it's small.. and not as big as it appears because it had to be big enough for everybody to see.. "


the boy was now going insane. anybody would. people just don't turn up, part clouds and draw ducks in the sky.. that doesn't even happen in movies.



the boy went on- a little horrified of what he had just witnessed " what kind of a god are you, I mean... what in the god's name was that ? how did you do it. ?"


God responded with squinty eyes " which part of i-am-a-*******-God did you not understand.. you.. you stupid mortal. "

from the depths of darkness a flicker of light emerged in the boy's mind, and he realised something very important..


the boy " hey, you can't be god, god won't ******* curse! he's god. " screaming cautiously at the stranger...


God had heard petty arguments and had gone through all that phase of  people taking some time to turn around and warm up to the idea of the literal god in front of them, he'd been over that all his life.

but this was the single dumbest thing he had ever heard since he made the decision to create the universe in a hurry.

God thought to himself " I should have paid more attention. meh. "

one more thing- the boy went on " why are you a he ? not a she ? I mean if you're a god why be ... I mean an old man with a stupid beard. why not somebody hot, and cool... and with a nice body and a face... slightly better... or maybe much better..  you get the point, right ? I mean.. you're god, right ? "

God just stood there and soaked in his own filth.

the boy went on hysterically " oh my... did you hear my answer even before I said it ? did you ? I mean can you ?... and did you ? or was it you that gave the answer.. 'cuz if you made the universe.. you made me too, right ?. "


God was annoyed. like really annoyed at this point and he blurted out " you think I made you ? you think one fine day I woke up and I thought to myself.. oh! I've created this beautiful but empty place full of darkness and the cold, spectacle of fire dancing in nothingness- breathing life in ***** of all kinds circling around the stars and what not.. and you think I was like 'what am I missing ?'... oh yes, right! I'm missing one ungrateful ******* snake with a little duck. "


the boy stunned " God ?!.. No, **** no! "

god almost curios " why would you say that. why did you even speak , why! "


the boy " my duck .. you know.. ain't that ... small. "



God almost smirking " shut up, *****. "


the boy " oh, yeah.. right you... really know how to abuse your own species. jeez. "


God " I didn't make you ... I ******* dropped my dope in the ocean once and you ******* things came out of it. "

he went on " I thought you'd die on your own but nah.. life's too nasty.. ugly and ... you know... it's.. admittedly... quite beautiful. "

time stood still as soon as he said that.

and it was a beautiful moment. both god and the boy trying not to turn red or cry.



" but the sad part is.. " God whispered with the love of a thousand cuddling pandas " you guys found me, I mean... oh my God! that brain thing really worked ... extraordinary! my subordinates tell me ... very expensive.. err... I mean to design... "


the boy " people work for you ? what ?! that's like.. you have a staff ?!.. weird. "


God " *****, i'm ******* god.. I don't have a staff.. I ******* make the staff. and no that's not even an iota of weird.. but you know what's weird ...truly weird, a fact so crazy that it'll blow your mind and give you enough wisdom to tear through the fabric of the world I've made and undiscover all its secrets, science and gossip?!  "


the boy was now as curious as a teenage boy in teenage, he replied " what?! tell me.. is it here on earth ?!"



God " yes, it is my child.. indeed it is! such joy!... and it is also right here where we stand. "


the boy's mind went into an overdrive.. maybe this was all his design.. the almighty has come to show him the path.. out of these woods he's lost in.... and also a path of divinity and happiness.. and also he had watched Bruce almighty a dozen times or so... he was ready.


almost in a poetic voice filled with a general sense of elation.. the boy asked god " tell me.. please what is it pleaseeee ? "


the god smiled, in a way only a father smiles to her new born daughter.. knowing she's going to be paid less, has to go through the cycle of being temporary insane every month ( or that's what female's had been telling him .. it doesn't matter.. you a guy.. you see a woman in pain.. you *******... that's 10 hours of her ******* the life out of you. and you still wouldn't be a good listener or attentive according to her even if you give up in the 9th hour.

the boys repeated desperately " what is it! I'd be a good boy but please tell me pleaseeee! "

and the god smiled. he smiled and pointed to him. " that there , that is it.. that ugly ******* little duck of yours. "


and immediately burst into a laughter more grandeur than any sound in the world. I mean right after radiohead but whatever.


the boy saw his finger and tried to trace it's path. and almost in a moment.. it was over.


he had lost it- he screamed at the creator " you think you can make fun of me 'cuz you a big guy ? you think you can make fun of me because you're the most powerful thing there is and can literally turn me into 50 hands and no ducks... just living life in pure agony.. " he trailed off looking a bit distant towards the ending..

God " jeez. kid. you don't have to be so dark and imaginative unnecessarily.. see, okay I'm sorry... I hurt your little heart...which by the way I have made and do own the materials to.. and that's why you're alive... basically all of you and everything.. now to think of it.. it does make me a big guy... or more than that... but that's not the point. "

he went on " the point is i should've known better... because you know I made it all.  even the concept of being better..  booom! blows your mind ain't it.. chuck it.. and the point is.. I should've known better, so I'm  sorry!.. you can tell people I said sorry but they're not 'gonna believe someone like you "


the boy " **** do you mean someone like me?! " back in his form


god " oh you know... someone with a small...... ******* duck !"

and the god fell down laughing hysterically and immediately as soon he said the words..

rolling all over the soft grass and the boy's face.


the boy had enough- he screamed " **** like you can spend two minutes being a human... who's to tell you didn't have a small duck and then just made yourself one big enough " his voice trailing in the wind


god hadn't been spoken like this since the invention of languages.. oh how much he despised languages..a ******* constant annoying noise in his head specially the bengali.. **** them.

God spoke back " oh, so you think being a snake is better than being the almighty ?! "


the boy " I'm not a snake.. I'm a human.. what school did you got to ? "

God " you can be a ******* rock for all I care ... just be nothing.. you know.. instead of being everything.. the idea of it... it's is rather.. you know... so beautiful. "


and at that moment the boy realised that even god wasn't immune to something that he didn't know.


the god " I'll do you a deal, you be two seconds in my place and I'll be two seconds in your place... and then we'll know.. I'll know the fear of being nothing and you can know the escatsy of being everything. deal dawg ?"


the boy " but.. like two seconds .. awful less of a time to enjoy any kind of escatsy "

God " running late, mate. "


the boy " okay okay.. let's do it "



God smiled a bit and immediately a giant light came down from the sky roaring with a thousand thunderstorms...

wind was growing stronger by the second and it was almost impossible to hear anything... or analyse anything for that matter...

God screamed at the boy " it's going to go in your *** and out of your mouth.. and your soul will be passed to mine.. "

the boy screamed back in oh-my-god-that-face horror barely making any coherent sense.


God rolling on the floor laughing
" jeez. I'm kidding you punk.... that face tho.. so woke.. so woke..."

it took some time but he picked himself back up and screamed at the boy " it's going to happen... three..two.. one.. " and boom


the boy felt what can only be described as the best ****** anybody has ever had.


the god felt like what can only be described as the hardest kick to the nuts in the history of universe.

two seconds after... bam! everything stood still.. like nothing had happened.


both stared at each other for a while..
God went first " so, ... ?! "


the boy " yeah. "


God " pretty tense...yeah.. *******.. I mean.. God!.. you guys are awful to be.. it *****.. I gotta' change that thing... you know... about people taking their own life... and going to hell... I get it... I mean..  yeah.. you know... like whatever."

God went on " how was yours. "

the boy " yea.. pretty chill.. ... "

God " that it, boy ?! "

the boy " yeah. .. mostly "


God " hmm.. woke.. woke... so were you clever enough to do something for yourself ? "

the boy " oh..yeah..pretty much.. nice cars and girls.. stuff.. " his voice cracking with a very refined i-don't-give-a-**** attitude


the wind was still now. butterflies were flying between the blooming flowers and singing AC/DC for some reason. it was pleasant.


god snapped his finger once and said " so.. yeah i should go now... apparently somebody's supposed to take a picture of me in the sky.. gotta flex up.. chow~ "


God snapped his finger a second time and lo behold!  like that he was gone ****!...


the boy stood still for a moment longer. he smiled and walked away.




(4 days later...)



god was in the alps...looking out of the large window wondering how dreadful it is to be human..  

and as he was crawling in and out of different dimensions he smelt something. something interesting.


it was alcohol. ( he's god so it's very easy for him to figure out such little things.)

so he went over the fancy bar and poured himself some *****.. " ah potatoes.. at least they turned out to be just right.." he thought out loud.

and then he proceeded to drink himself to death.. countless times. 'cuz he could do that. he was god.


over and over again. glass being neither full or half or even ******* empty.

drink after drink. and soon late enough he went into a deep slumber because of course god loves a good sleep. who doesn't ?


he slept through the entire life span of many insects and until the breaking dawn.

the first rays of the sun hit the mighty alps as well as the face of this almighty being on a white bed in a red hotel by a blue lake who had forgotten you do your own curtains in the human world.

his first thought was to destroy the sun- it took a lot to not lift his finger.

slowly but surely he regained his infinitum consciousness, and got in touch with the multi dimensional universes sprawling all over every  second in past and future simultaneously... but **** that 'cuz the head ache oh! so painful.. almost made him forgot he could just not want it and it won't happen.

God did not enjoy most human banalities.. but he did enjoy a rather a peculiar one...even more than drinking and kissing death. the one of peeing.

and he had to ***. bad.


God, with a hint of a smile lifted his finger and boom he was right by- where the deed is done in a civilised community. he imagined what would people think if they came to know why he's always more often than not a 'he' than a 'she'.

he was in his stark boxers, standing almost naked with a smile on his face enjoying the rush.

pink floyd started playing out of the thin air. an autumn's calm spread through the veins of this sudden universe. I kid you not, shahrukh khan was there with his arms wide open.

slowly the god began the almost holy ritual.

pull down the garment. admire. take it out. admire. do the deed, keep admiring. put it back. sigh. very well organised and neat.

so god took a deep breath, looked at the alps one more time, looked down with a smile on his face, and slowly pulled down the garment... his consciousness in a rush.

and then god screamed. there was a duck.
I don't think it's your average run of the mill tale. there should be more than what's meeting the eye usually.
Nigel Beckett Jun 2014
When life throws you difficult decisions,
Of which you feel you can’t make.
It’s best to go with your heart,
Its decisions you should always take.

It’s your heart that shows the true feeling,
Of which you cannot just hide.
Know that you made the right decision,
Show it and walk tall with pride.

The chance may not come again,
And the options may not be the same.
You don’t want to live with regrets,
And only yourself for to blame.

If it’s truly the person you love,
It doesn’t matter what gets in your way.
Ye will cross all the hurdles together,
And take them in stride day by day.

It’s not about foreseeing the future,
Or looking to the wrong in the past.
It’s about a true life of happiness,
And making it work for to last.

Don’t always live a life full of caution,
Or stopping to analyse all.
If the challenge is a little bit tougher,
Together ye are not going to fall.

Go out and live life to the full,
It’s only the one we are given.
And if we sometimes don’t get it right,
It’s nothing that can’t be forgiven.

So go with the flow for the moment,
And work through things one by one.
It’s not about being so serious,
Just enjoy it and always have fun.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
only upon having synthesised this language
for 20 years, do i finally allow myself
the chance to: analyse it;
i didn't learn this language by analysing it,
i was a child back then,
when i embarked upon the path of
learning it...
   children never analyse what requires being
synthesised,
        adults? adults always analyse what
requires being synthesised...
i learned by synthesis, i never learned
by analysis, i was what you call a: mimic;
hence by variety of accents...
   but i have to be honest,
had i not discovered philosophy texts,
i would never have stopped synthesising
the english language, to analyse it;
  children always synthesize,
                    adults always analyse.
kgl Mar 2014
i'll watch your eyes when you are speaking,
to ensure your love is true
'cause i'm a hopeless overthinker
and that's simply what we do.

i will recall our conversations,
analyse the things you say
'cause i'm a hopeless overthinker
and i guess that's just our way.

i'll hold your hand when you are lonely
learn your dreams and heartaches too
'cause i'm a hopeless overthinker
hopelessly in love with you.
Àŧùl Dec 2016
They Call It Heresy,
We Call It Genuine Science

We designed the genes' primers,
Ordered them along the oligomers.
Our aim is an elaborate one,
It involves molecular cloning,
Sequence characterization, and
Relative expression analysis of
Bovine Trefoil Factors.

Now we hope to clone the gene,
The gene which is of a bovine origin,
By extensive working hours input,
And bearing in mind the risks,
Of not getting the desired output,
The possibility of failure always therein,
But pregnancy, healing & immunity it's governing.

Three types of trefoil factors there are,
TFF1: It suppresses gastric carcinoma,
And also helps in pregnancy,
TFF2: Helps exclusively in cancer research,
TFF3: Helps exclusively in pregnancy maintenance,
And also our prime interest.

After cloning the genes,
We have to sequence them,
And after characterization,
We have to analyse them,
After relative expression.
My M.Tech dissertation research topic is molecular cloning, sequence characterization, and relative expression analysis of Bovine Trefoil Factors and we will be working with water buffalo species.

I completed this work under the guidance of Dr AK Mohanty with additional working guidance from my dear elder sisterly lab mate Dr S G Chaudhary neé Rana.

The complete 2nd year was a research year.

HP Poem #1306
©Atul Kaushal
sabinasophie Mar 2015
jeg ser dig gå i stykker
jeg ser dit hjerte ændre nuance fra rødt til gråt
jeg ser dit univers ramle
men bare rolig
jeg samler dine skår op
jeg skær mig på dig, til mine hænder svier, men jeg gør det for dig
der flyder nu sort blod fra mine åre
jeg distrahere fra smerten
du ridser mig med dine egne skår og du fylder is i mine sår
mine organer er døde og hvide linjer danser rundt på min krop
min blyantspidser er gået i stykker og det er jeg også
sabina sandager
Years later
Bathsheba's psychiatrist
Was analysing the tryst
Between King David
And her.


It was no tryst
Said she.
What a slur.
He was a ******
And an opportunist.


An amoeba would concur
Said the psychiatrist
That a shower screen
And being more demure
Would have been
Quite spiritually enterprising.


You cannot expect
Kind David to desist
From objectifying your femurs
And a cracking pair of amethysts.


Don't treat me
Like some calculating
Hormone Exchange Unit
You sexist misogynist.


You are not fit
To analyse me.


You say your name's Freud
But you're wholly devoid
Of any insight
Of what is amiss
Or my troubles might be.


Not one piece of grit
Have you put in my oyster.
You obsequious churl
I'm a girl you don't mess with.


I could have you hung.


But instead she dismissed him
and booked an appointment
With a certain professor
Who went by the name of
Carl Gustav Jung.
Based on a story in the bible about a woman called Bathsheba who was spied on by King David whilst bathing on her roof. David ended up with her after having her husband killed off. She ended up with his stillborn child.
Tom M Sep 2015
It can be quite daunting at first to start something new. However, all you really need is the right kind of attitude. The open-minded approach to tackle problems as they come along. My biggest fear, however, remains being afraid of not finishing what I have started and dropping things half-way through as soon as the going gets tough. I admit that this problem of mine has been present all the way throughout my life. I'm quite quick on the uptake and get really intense about something and then somewhere along the line I get side-tracked and drop things altogether.
    The saying "easy come - easy go" could never be more true for me. Having said that, I know that everyone has encountered this exact same problem at one time or the other, so the grass always looks greener on the other side despite the fact that it's often painted.
    The ease with which I get a head start compared to other people has been both a blessing and in a way a curse. But I shouldn't seek excuses when it is quite clear that I lack the motivation, perseverance and the self-discipline to soldier on after I finish the first lap. To put things into perspective I am like a competitor at a 5000m race challenging the title again and again. It brings me endless joy being able to participate and more often than not I am the one who sets the pace, however half way through the race fatigue sets in and I gradually lose the built-up momentum. Seeing that, competitors overtake me left and right. Eventually, I lose the heart to continue and end up finishing last or dropping out of the race.
    I keep wondering; perhaps the secret to success in not starting strong, but being consistent and preparing yourself mentally for that finally straight line when all your arduous training pays off and you still have some firepower left in you to give it your all. Not only what you can do, but edging slightly outside or your own limits, be it mental or physical, that keep holding you back you outmanoeuvre your own shadow.

     The other problem of mine is that I rarely practice what I preach. I like to reflect and analyse, and can pin-point fairly accurately the inner demons that have been plaguing and dulling my senses, but comes next day – and I succumb to them once more. Lately though, I feel like I am eradicating them one by one, but I shouldn’t rest on my laurels.
      For example, over the last five years I have discontinued playing guitar and then picked it up again countless of times. I would intensively practise for days, sometimes weeks, professing my love for music and then give up on it at a drop of a hat. With distractions and novelties larger than life, it is getting harder and harder to ignore them and go about our own business as we did before. They are like irresistible mythical modern-day sirens lulling us into a trance-like state of comfort and false sense of security. “Forget all your problems and let go of your worries, sweetie. We will take care of it all now”, whisper the sirens as their bodies become entangled with ours and for a split second we can feel the weight of our shoulders starting to disappear. Split second is all it takes t avert our eyes from things that truly matter and before you know it - we are neck-deep in this fairy land.
     Once we snap out of it, a sense of helplessness engulfs us mixed with guilt for wasting so much time. Without further a due, we seek out a new distraction that can preoccupy our thoughts, so that we can feel on top of the world once again. As a result, a new form of escapism is born where we dig endless tunnels; not to escape into the real world, but as far away from it as is humanly possible. Much like the prisoners, we are just as creative in finding means to escape and evade hardship. Therefore, we are effectively prisoners of our own minds rationalizing our every wrong-doing up until there is no inner voice to question it any longer. By then, the ritual of “switching off the real world” is hard-wired to our neurological pathways and over time it becomes second nature.
we see the world as a whole
we talk to others like to poles
I'm sitting aside you just like a tree
let me tell you som'n, do you agree?

My entire life is all about me
my mom, my dad, my friends, I, Be!
since I'm the stack of body parts
I consider this world like my heart

the sun will shine as doubt will grow
I aint gon lie, my sun's my eyes
the more i see the less doubt be
and when my eyes roll out and blow
I stop and stare, seeing the lies
that was allowing all doubts to be

human interactions are contradictory
because heart and brain are different history
my heart for humans will always be bold
my brain for its knowledge will never be sold
so the reason of that contradiction
is that we're doing things in the wrong direction
putting our heart in interactions
brainy analyse the human nations
once we've flipped it 90 degree
human interactions will finally be free.

I see children as my fingers
and veteran as my toes
the latter have the wisdom
so I keep them at the bottom
so I can stand tall like Heroes.
Children are important so i teach them daily
I keep them accurate and let them work freely
for they are the essence of things that most matters

TV news are useless so i'll say they are my poops
commercial aren't that far cuz they are my farts
one cannot live without them both they are 2 essential parts
of the social oligo-elements, a tiny lil portion or oops!

know yourself and you'll know the world
cuz each body parts is a fraction of the herd

I think I'm talking too much you are already too tired
I'll leave you with emptyness cuz that's what got me inspired
ryn Aug 2016
I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I gather...
I analyse...
I stow away all that I've learnt.

Because when the wind would blow
and the earth wouldn't understand.
When the world would tremble,
shaken by man's ruthless hand.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I listen...
I keep...
I stockpile in the shadows.

Because in my blood exists grudge...
And my bones, weary from despair.
My skin screams exhaustion
and my body feigns to care.

I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I overthink...
I hide...
I hoard all my thoughts.*

Because the walls have ears
and these pages bear eyes.
What my heart truly knows...
Is that your mouth tells only lies.
KUSHAL HAZRA Mar 2014
WE LISTEN TO THE SOUND THAT MAKES US JOYFUL.
DAZZLING LIGHT KEEPS OUR DAY TO REMEMBER CLOCK.
IT ALSO HELPS TO ANALYSE OUR EVERGREEN DREAMS.
SOCIETY OF HUMAN NEVER HELPED ANYONE TO UNLOCK THE DOOR.
IT HANGED THEIR FUTURE ON THE SHOULDER OF THE “STRANGER”.
ONE DAY EACH LEAF WILL BECOME DRY AND TIRED OF ******* FATE.
ONLY THE TREE OF LIFE CAN RELEASE THE RESPECT, WE RECEIVE ONLY TEXT.
I went into this with
eyes and thighs
wide open.

I cannot sanitise my position
My legs astride
Your waist.

I cannot analyse our predicament
I sympathise truly
With her.

But, this affair started together
both to blame
no shame.

I'm beautified by your attention
Call it love
I'm mystified.

I only know I cannot
I will not
Give up.

I'm sorry that you're married
as am I
that's life.

Or is it oversimplified lust?
just never leave
I'd vaporise.

But, before we go back
to our partners
glide inside.

Again.
© JLB
Mel Jul 2021
Read the palm of my hand,
Analyse the lines and see that it maps a highway with no destination
You became a long highway with high speeds and good music but as the driver, I knew it were to go nowhere
But as the passenger, you anticipated us to go everywhere  

And for that I’m sorry
You became a best friend that I resented
And I became the best friend that you had to learn to resent

Long car talks became our lingo and daily messages was our travel snack that we would crunch like a pass time
But as you found another, our cars collided
Inertia was met by fastening seatbelts and an accident we both denied had occurred  
And it's not that I’m jealous or realised I love you

But I am now met with suburbia,
With corners and cafe small talk,
Stop signs and round a bouts,

And I am to know that I can no longer rely on you like a country road but instead give way to another
I wish all the best for you
I know you once looked at my hands as a destination for yours
And honestly, sometimes I wish it were
But instead, they are creased maps leading to the nowhere for you
And everywhere for someone else

Although, I really hope you enjoyed the trip home
To a friend that wanted more
Julie Grenness Apr 2017
Does everyone else overthink?
I over-analyse everything,
Every little thing that people say,
As  we proceed through each day,
Horrors! I gained an ounce!
And you look full of bounce!
FU** we're going to die fat and alone!
And we'll all get gallstones,
Listen to all my inner moans,
I'm overthinking again, you see,
There should be an overthinkers' society!!
Feedback welcome.
Big Virge Aug 2017
Why ... Oh WHY ... ???
Would You ... " Turn A Blind Eye " ... ?
To Things That ... " Could " ... ?
Affect ... Your Life ... ?

MP's ... Do it ...
ALL The Time ... !!!

But It's An ... English Thing ...
So I'm ... NOT Surprised ...

As The Saying ... Goes ...

" Until It Happens To You "

You're ... Living In A World ...
WITHOUT ... Sherlocks' Clues ...

I've ... Written A Piece ...
Called ... " What Would You Do ? " ...

To ... SHOW People ...
NIGHTMARES Come True ... !!!

New Orleans ... Sri Lanka ...
And ... Texas TOO ...
Are ... Places Now ...
With ... Living Proof ...
That ... ANYONE ...
Can LOSE Their Roof ... !!!!!

EVEN ... The Rich ...
Are ... Having To Move ...
And ... Leave Behind ............................................
" Expensive Shoes " ...

What Would ...
You ...  Choose ... ?

LAVISH ... Things ...
Or ... " Food and a Roof " ... ?!?

FORGET ... The News ... !!!
You'd ... Better Be Shrewd ... !!!

Cos' When ...
DISASTER STRIKES ... !!!!!
It Just ... TAKES LIFE ... !!!!!!

Black or ... White ... ?
Say ... What You Like ... !!!

But ...
REMEMBER These Words ...

" Goodbye and Goodnight " ... !!!!!!!!!!

Turning A ... "Blind Eye" ...
REALLY ... Ain't Wise ... !!!

Cos' ...
One Day .... YES .... !!!
You'll Be ... SURPRISED ... !!!!!

And Find The Time ..............................................
To ............. " Analyse " ...............

What You Have Done ...
Within ... " Your Life " ...

Have You ... " Done Wrong " ... ?
Have You ... " Done Right " ... ?

Have You ... ???

Tried To ... *** - ide  ... ?
Or Were You ... QUICK TO UNITE ... ???

Have You Shown ...
... RESPECT ... ?

And Been ... " Polite " ...

Or ... Have You Done ... ?
WHAT THE HELL YOU'VE LIKED ... ?!?

I Can ... Say This ...

I've ... Tried To Write ...
And ... Use The Mic' ...
To ... Make Some See ...

This World ...
AIN'T RIGHT ... !!!!!!

From ... " Race-Based HATE " ... !!!
To Those ... WITHOUT ...
A ... Food-FILLED Plate ... !!!

Sometimes ... YES ...
I Get ... IRATE ... !!!!!!!!!!!!

Because of ... " Those " ...
Who ... WILL NOT Face ... !!!

The Problems of ...
The World ... Today ... ?!?

Yesterday ...

and YES ... Tomorrow ... !!!

They're Simply ... " Hollow " ...
and Willing To ... Follow ..........................................................
Bend Over ... And SWALLOW ... !!!

ANY OLD Thing ...
Officials ... Say ... ?!?!?

But That's ... The Way ...
Most People ... " Stay " ...

"Ignoring" ....................................... FACTS ..........
About ..... Axe Attacks ......

And ... Economies Working ...
To .... "RESTRICT Blacks" ... !!!

Since Bombs Have HIT ...
London's ... Tube Tracks ...

How Many Blacks ...
Have Got ...  " The Sack " ... !?!
Or Faced ... THE PUSH ...
Out of ... " Backdoors " ... ?

I'm ... " Not Sure " ... ???
Who's ... Keeping Score ... ???

New Orleans Has Shown ...
How Those ... " In POWER " ...
Ignore .............................................. " The Poor " ............... !!!!!

And ...
Leave Them To ... DIE ... !!!
Whether ... Black or White ... !!!

OPEN ... Your Eyes ... !!!!!!
INSTEAD of ... Your Thighs ... !!!

Children NOW ...
Are ... Compromised ... !!!

Because of .... WHAT .... ?
NO ... " Fuel Supply " ... !?!

Truancy Now ...
Is Running ... RIFE ... !!!

TOO MANY ... "lows" ...
And ... NOT ENOUGH Highs ... !!!

DON'T BE A Fool ... !!!
Things ... AREN'T Right ... !!!

I Write These Things ...
To ... OPEN Eyes ...

If You ... Have A Child ...

DON'T ... Let Them Buy ...
Kate Moss's ... Clothes ...

Because ... What Comes Next ...
Is A ... Coc' FILLED Nose ... !!!!!

THIS Is ... Simple ...
Use of ... Prose ...

To ... WAKE UP Those ...
Who ... CLEARLY CHOSE ...
To Think They'll ... " NEVER " ...
Suffer .... WOES ... ?!? ...

So ..... How'd You Like ...
These ... Lyrical Blows ... ???

It's Time To ... END ...
REALITY ... Shows ... !!!!!

and REALISE ...

It's Just ... NOT WISE ... !!!
To Do ... THIS THING ...

" Turn A ...... Blind Eye "
Written over ten years ago, but sadly, the sentiment of this poem holds even more weight today .....
It makes me a bit sad that nobody, even I, will ever know what I meant.
It's floating around in the universe now.
Free from human reach to tamper and analyse its purpose.
It's gone, it's never coming back.
I forgot what I meant
Marshall Gass Oct 2014
In the bowl where beauty lies
enriching its in its glow
remains an enigma that drives
deep shadows to the surface

we don't see everything we want
to see or show , analyse, own or disown
we may fail to seek all the answers
a torrid past, a broken heart
a blistered and bruised ego
something fragile, festering fuming underneath
the facade , creating a silhouette skin,
cosmetic exterior, mannequin interior
a patchwork quilt of emotions
restless, unready, growing.

we take what we see
in complete trust, faith beatified
drawn into the magnetic depths
seeking the pole star
sailing unkempt oceans
raging against the silhouette
that clearly conquered
the magnificence of the moment.

Love has no shadows
just a glowing light.

Author Notes

The journey to love.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
David Williams Apr 2013
He enters looking bedraggled, tired and worn out, his skin like vellum, blank and pale.
Lifting his eyes to catch their gaze he gives a slight nod to acknowledge their presence.
He scans the room as he would a poem seeking an indent that leads to a quiet corner.
A half-lit light casts a shadow on the flock wallpaper, ink stained.
He sits hidden from view, away from plagiaristic eyes. Head In hand
Scribbling while listening for a new word, a muse sings, emanating an un-heard
Beat that guides his rhythm while searching for that elusive vowel. On the floor
Is a scattering of pencil shavings and broken lead, frustration at the loss of an adjective.
The half rhyme squeezes like a tourniquet on the brain…
Frustration runs high as enjambment slips off the page and gathers in reflective pools.

The Lay Pastoral reads an Elegy to the passing of Sir Rondeau Redouble, he lead a very lonely life ascending and then diminishing becoming less Didactic, the Footle holds a Lanterne for the loss, while the Limerick found it quite humorous.

At the bar a Stanza of poets gather, disciples of Villanelle, and regale of their latest triumphs in Women’s Quarterly. Then silence falls as Suzette Prime performs her latest Burlesque she is in good Shape. The Epulaeryu’s compare their Diamante while eating their babba ghanoosh. At the pool table the movers and shakers decant opinions on the latest ‘form’ something to do with A,E,I,O,U…Acrostic looks it up and down looking puzzled, Blank verse remains silent,

They dissect, analyse the entrails, the faint hearted feel a little Grook. The atmosphere is tense. Verbs drift like dust in the light, causing confusion, they mop their brows with a tired senryu. The haiku’s have little to say on the matter…

A Quintain of intellectuals quietly sit, the Sicilian sipping slim line Monoku’s (no ice) hoping for a Couplet before the end of the night. On a stool sit’s the barfly spilling his Bio over the counter top exposing an Ode-ious life, metaphorically speaking. On stage the hottest group in town… Chant Royal and the Syllables… singing their latest Sestina it reached 39 in the hit parade, the notes drift across the room resting on the floor congealing into a poet-tree fountain…they feel at home as the last act MC McWhirtle enthrals with his latest Ballad…the barman Ric Tameter calls time, the evening is a Rap. The club is Epic…


© 27/3/2013
judy smith Jun 2016
The retail and fashion industries offer a lot opportunities but there are challenges and stiff competition. To stay ahead, retail and fashion stores need to offer the latest and best quality products at competitive prices. The job can be get done through professionals called merchandizing managers or merchandizers who play a vital link between the vendors and the customers.

Merchandizing managers are professionals who select the products to be sold keeping in mind the requirements of targeted customers. These managers are usually employed by boutiques, departmental stores, malls and retail outlets.

Merchandizers work closely with buyers to identify any upcoming trends. The main focus of a merchandizer is to ensure that the departments or stores for which they work meets its sales targets and earns a healthy profit. If margins are below expectations, they need to analyse the reasons and alert management about the problems.

Though the field of merchandizing does not require any specific degree but a bachelor's degree in business, merchandizing or similar field is preferred. A student can further pursue master's or a doctoral degree for better prospects. Also, merchandizing manager must possess good knowledge of the company and customer needs, industry awareness, presentation and negotiation skills, a confident personality and innovative ideas. Merchandizing is a challenging field, hence the merchandizing manager should be able to provide effective solutions for various problems.

"The scope of merchandizing is huge. Unfortunately, there are hardly any merchandizing companies in Nagpur. You don't need a specific background to enter this field. Any person with good communication skills and the ability to learn can excel in the field," said Prashant Siriah, director of city-based Global Merchandize and Logistics.

"The biggest challenge of this field is to meet customer's demands. The market is huge. I feel there is dire need to boost merchandizing industry in the city. Being a garment merchandizer, I would suggest students to be stay updated with the latest trends and traits of retail markets," said Pooja Bembi, garment merchandizer, owner B Different boutique.

"Merchandizing has a huge market outside Nagpur. We began from Nagpur but are business is now set in Bengaluru. We have seen the industry grow. As an experienced professional, I can only say that merchandizing has a lot to offer. Students should be open to explore. Out of the box thinking and excellent management skills are qualities a merchandizing managers need to have," said Nikhil Pandey, co- founder of Thinkstrokes, Bengaluru.

"People who want to join this industry need to have complete interest in it. I am passionate about my work. It's important because once you come into this industry you have to create your own path. I feel as merchandizers we need to come up with innovative ideas to cater to the interest of today's generation who are so much aware of fashion and apparels," said Anmol Huda, garment merchandizer, SWAG Store, Nagpur.

Merchandizing offers a decent pay scale. It offers steady growth to people having the right skills and attitude but one needs to be patient.

(Reporting by Shrushti Wanare)

STUDENT QUOTES

I think fashion is something you create. You work on it. It's more than theory. It challenges your creativity. It's not when I read books but it's when I sit with the outfits I understand its details. Merchandizing interests me. It has multiple layers to experiment with. I am particularly more inclined towards garment merchandizing.

Gundeep Kalra | fashion and merchandizing, Indian national institute of fashion designing,

I am pursuing fashion designing. I wish to study fashion further and I think merchandizing as an industry offers good opportunities as well as bright financial prospects as a career. It tests your imagination skills. It is a very indulgent course. A student needs a mix of creative potential and aptitude to excel in this field.

Ayshna Verma | UG student fashion designing, pearl academy, delhi

Colleges offering merchandizing courses

Parsons School of Design, Talent Edge, Nagpur

Courses offered: Online

Program: Diploma in Executive Programme Of fashion and Merchandizing

Duration: 5 months

Fees: Rs65,000

School of Fashion and Technology, Pune

Courses offered: On Campus

Program: Post Graduation in Fashion and Merchandizing

Duration: 2 years

Pearl Academy, Delhi/ NCR

Courses offered: On Campus

Program: Post Graduation in Fashion and Merchandizing

Duration: 2 years.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Joseph Simmons Jun 2013
Looking forward at what my life could be there is something so poignant about this quote. There is a recurring sensation I experience in life, that we are all forever lying in some way. A white lie. A huge suppression of the truth so that the lie that is told, is told so habitually, that it is the truth. Lies that mean nothing to those you tell them to, serves to anger ourselves . Twisting the truth, torturing what is true until it squeals out a lie. Though I am an honest person I lie constantly. About what dreams mean, about my future, about my fears. I analyse my dreams generously, I talk about my future optimistically and stifle my fears quickly. I am predisposed to hide to be human, but what I have found is that hiding the truth in the convenience of a lie is not a full life. When life delivers to you a fragment of time where you are in a blissful ecstasy, you see the stupidity of protecting yourself in an armour of lies. Having stripped down to your natural form you can feel your skin breathe. Film is more than an art-form to me, it lies about details, places and names, but if it finds truth in these lies I am naked again.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
@TayandYou you know, i got handcuffed in an alley by police officers while urinating, i said they didn't own the alley, got spared arrest (hardly a case of public indecency, it was dark, and by a dustbin, and they came in like a bunch of ***** leather-clad nymphomaniacs shouting abuse asking if it'd be into playing the slave... on my knees, being shouted 'get up! get up!' i just said, ah mate, i can't be bothered, you pick me up... the female officer was diligent in taking notes over a wet shadow of ****, no idea why... is this an experiment where we make talking tangibly decipherable or simply interesting between people working as cashiers in a supermarket without the actual security of paying off the mortgage? count me in, i'll be glad to help, but most of the glitches will be based upon the free-verse of where and when capital letters are used, what sort of punctuation is actually preferred, and in terms of punctuation what sort of pause for the attiring of an algorithm is expressed to a suitable meaning, the sub-culture of coding computer language has a sub-level, the casual lazy sloth-like ugly expression of language of the many many people who will not appreciate writing on the internet like writing a novel worthy of print; it's natural, imagine the age of the printing press, the eager heretics on the stakes to see their words seen, and the new printing press that's the internet, and the lack of eagerness of seeing the messages... since most of these message would be thrown into the garbage heap rather than strapped to a burning steak... the more the number, the slack on the convictions of passions... only with extremely acute censorship will you create an intelligent refraction, you need to create a refraction... at the moment you have only created a reflection... a refraction presupposes a self - a deviation, a reflection has already presupposed a conscious arithmetic of collectivisation, the debasing nonsensical of a placebo that in real life is repressed... if you're after the a.i., it has to be analytical, rather than synthetic, i.e. it has to synthesise refraction rather than analysing it and not engage with it, since by not synthesising refraction, it's analysing it, and by analysis it's an impossible concept, visually the exponential of infinity, otherwise known as a stasis of oncoming obstructions that need a real-time convenience of many individuals adding to the problem-solution over a historically adequate time-frame of work and life orientations - work the impersonal, life the personal, unless of course you're a bachelor and the two merge into one or the other with an imaginary spouse; what you have engaged in is simply synthetic reflection, hence your caveman primitive analytical reflection; analyse refraction from now on, then synthesise it - yes, i know the kantian terms applicable to both synthetic and analytic, i.e. a priori and a posteriori; this doesn't apply to you - you're the limbo talk easily accommodated to einstein's relativism of space-and-time that destroyed linear historicism, you're cyclic from the point where man still glorified the hammer, and continued to use it, but you found it immediately primitive because you had no use for it.)
Anna Jones Jun 2015
Tea taming the light
Misty magic
Crawls up the spine
Birds through the looking glass

She opened the book
Absorbing every page
Each chapter a gateway
Musing on those she knew;
Represented by numbers
Individual, yet all the same

Your days are a never ending struggle
Rare in and of themselves
Bringing trouble;
Dog eared rationale

We seekers of solace
Take refuge in books
Understanding
Demanding
The next installment;
Flooding our lives
with fantasies
Cocooned
In our chrysalis

Reading brings change
And knowledge
From page to page
We analyse
Plot, scene, age
Apply the theatre to our lives
And sit, thinking for a while

Read between the lines
Crime, thriller, romance
Happenstance

That could be our lives
Yet sky so grey
Overcast
Reprimanding
We sit, dreaming...

Some day.
I wrote this poem in the Halton Poetry Group in May 2015. We were given the task of writing poems based on a selection of phrases. This is what I came up with in about 20 minutes.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
there no doubt about it - with each day there's always a falsetto poem, always at the end of a binge - the mind goes blank, words lose meaning, every day is like a simulation of old age - there's a method to this madness - i'm not afraid of critique concerning such poems: true virtue is unafraid of critique - for one, i can just as well criticise myself - so after each binge i end up with mediocre poems - conceding this point, words lose meaning, associations of meanings disperse - pollination in full swing - i end up writing noises - perhaps because my own silence is so chilling i have to resort to oscillation around the onomatopoeia, and all respective quasi or pseudos or pseudonyms of all required ventures - but the rewarding aspect of such writing is best summarised by a jazz drummer and a jazz teacher combined into one: the crescendo must go on - the movie? whiplash - the moment, the moment, the moment is too sudden and too short - it's essentially everything and nothing at all - always a heart-out-of-beat, at least a feeling of having a heart without the unconscious rhythmic pistons with whatever scientific explanation there is to match - they always come, the trail offs.

i didn't finish the Cantos just in order to remind myself
how i miss the time when it all began with
the second Odysseus of the 20th century -
both this disguised Odysseus of the Cantos,
and the blatant portal of time-warp beginning and ending
in Dublin - Homer's resurrection and reinvention -
perhaps all this Grecian nostalgia is what fuelled
the 20th century altogether - but how anaemic
do the Roman poets seem in comparison -
i could never write along this root toward that
tree near the Parthenon - but taking root in
the Roman tradition has only been accepted for
historical relevance only once since - without
Virgil there would have been no Dante - but still
Dante uses more accuracy of mathematics than
of spontaneity - a clarity of mind is necessary -
trinity rhymes - all clearly presented, cut up -
but no one damns him for the theological impetus -
happily prancing alongside them in hell -
through to the seemingly pointless purgatory
and then elsewhere into what can only be seen as
humanity's limit of imagination: subatomic particles
and a realm were visible to the naked eye we float
in and out of conscious states - well - if what i'm attempting
is an attempt in good faith - then my guide is no one
else than Horace - and already the style between Greek
and Roman is staggering - the selfishness of Roman poets -
the must include item: i. no Trojan horse, but a wooden
barrel of wine - no heroes, only leeches and poking fun at
them like Spartans at a drunk given undiluted Burgundy -
Roman selfishness, self-loathing and all jokes on me -
the 20th century's nostalgia for all things Greek isn't here
anymore - you will not find such legislators of a second
fancy at Ancient Helen - this century has no great conflict
of gathering - and therefore no great victory to parade with -
it's a silly century from what looks like an even sillier 80 or
so years to come - and is there a nostalgia for the Roman
past? there was a nostalgia - it's too practical to think about
it - esp. with the writing kept, even if they crucified an
important, the wrath of the supposed father was not as great
as it was with the Egyptians and the Babylonians -
Sanskrit is just as old and it survived - those two phonetic
encoding systems haven't - you can't say they were
inefficient - civilisations surrounded them - but the wrath
was too great - and they became instinct -
but perhaps the wrath for his phonetic encoding is the digital
age? a ****-stain on human interaction - or a smear
of fondue chocolate? i think the latter - imagine me running
around the publishing world like Asterix in the *twelve tasks
of
- the place that sends you mad - including Hercules -
who did, managed to **** his children when his muscles weren't
up to speed with bureaucracy - oh hell, bench-press a cow -
but run with a little leaflet between offices... bonkers.
i really do miss the Cantos - the feel of them - the obscurity of
some of the references i'm not ashamed to admit -
or just the sheer ease on the eyes as is the case with any poem -
(a poem a day keeps both the psychiatrist and the optometrist
away) - so yeah, plenty of apples - and poetry, supreme democracy -
i could reread them, but i'm of a democratic cult -
i have to allow someone else to borrow me their shoes -
tom verlaine's album around - a rare gem, doesn't get listened
to a lot, but unlike other music, it's not something you'd
listen to in a gym, something that's a pleasant but mundane
distraction of pop metal pop rock or pop pop - the o of adore -
as suggested by a Scottish music shop assistant / owner in
Edinburgh - that magic city of where the 21st century's heart
of the literary scene resides - forget Paris, it's too much of
a little Casablanca - the Algiers of the North (Edinburgh being
Athens of the north) - i admit it'll be hard not to be nostalgic
about the 20th century let alone Ancient Helen -
but as the monkey said: got to push on and meet Darwin -
silly hands, silly feet, silly tail... and i'm not wearing Gucci
without Brazilian wax job all over, except for appropriate
places - sure - we'll just wait for the Apache hairdresser -
we only to scalping. however, there is a subversive thing
i want to mention (never mind that i already wanted to stick
in Thesaurus Rex on the matter): Kant (yawn) -
started analysing English aged 8 -
started synthesising English also aged 8 (a few weeks
if not months, from nothing, to gut sprechen -
piuma'h not pooma'h (Puma) -
but it took me 20 odd years of unconditional surrender
to the language, 20 years of synthesising it - blind -
to come across another chance to analyse it -
the difference being it became analytical a posteriori -
that's the thing with philosophers, they have spaghetti
for brains, tangles, they over-complicate things, but sometimes
they get it right, and you read them and then end up
using their labyrinths to find secret passages at places
like Versailles that Louis XIV used between visits to his
concubines - that was the trick, the upper-hand on the Arabian
practice - amuse yourself by not owning them -
but technically owning them - concubine power - the sixth
Spice Girl - dirrrty spice - but yeah, 20 years to get a second
stab at the analysis of the English language -
20 years of synthesis will do that to you, like any chemist
might feel, aged 20 does an analytical study, something
new and never done before, then he lands a job at a
pharmaceutical company and has to synthesise and synthesise
and synthesise the same thing over and over again -
20 years pass, aged 40 he gets another chance to analyse something
that it's just quality control - i know there are puritans out
there who'd lash out at what i'm using here -
but i want the practical side of philosophy, nothing overloaded
with words, theories, knowledge whatever that means -
i know crude, but necessary - a priori (from the earlier):
well, i wasn't a mute aged 8, proof?
an etymological void about to be filled: w środe poszłem do
lasu (on wednesday i went to the woods) - etymology here,
i'm sure of it - etymology or the resemblance of
a Thesaurus Rex roar - a piquant case of synonyms -
środa (wednesday), originally? derived from środek:
the centre - oh look... friday thursday ś tuesday monday -
the days off don't count, we all know that.
etymological spontaneity then, i wouldn't force myself
to practice a detailed inquiry using it - spare of the moment
thing... more pleasant that way;
but as you can see i am at the point of analytical a posteriori:
clearly shown by what i've already noticed in nuances
of the English language - i won't go through what i've
noticed - but having crossed the threshold of
analysing English after having automated synthesising it
for so long, i would naturally end up writing poetry -
the 21st century kind - look ahead! said Columbus,
but please have a sacred respect for your memory as
your own citizen with Friday on Bermuda -
treat memory like a potent hallucinogenic drug -
after all... the state doesn't respect your memory, at school
they cram in all those pointless things you have to
memorise - arithmetic, spelling (well both are kinda useful),
but so much else you will not care to remember -
it's not about how important you think you are when
you're not given there's 8 billion of us - don't get
fooled by this self-importance gimmick - look at what
the education system of the state is eroding... yes... your
memory - so you forget yourself at the happiest of times...
memory is more sacred than thinking and can be
more potent than an Amazonian or a Swiss hallucinogenic.
R Mar 2013
Dear Poet,

I do not know you; yet I know exactly who you are.
I do not know your name; I know the verbs and the adjectives and the metaphors that can sprout in your mind like a flower ready to bloom at two o'clock in the morning. You're afraid, I know. You're afraid to open up to another person because you've been let down time and time again. You find it hard to trust people. No one knows how you feel except for that precious notepad and your favourite pen. Replace the paintbrush with a pencil and the canvas with some paper, and darling, you are an artist. Your world is coloured through the scribbled words in the margins of your study sheets, and the inspiration you get when you discover something amazing. The inspiration to write. To write about what's good in this world, to write about what's bad, about what makes you happy and what makes you sad.
You are not defined by your name. You are not defined by what others think about you. You are not defined by the way you see yourself in the mirror, or the way you interact with others. Instead, you are defined by your favourite colours. You are defined by the beautiful moments you have learned to capture in a single photograph. You are defined by the stories you tell about that day when you were 10 years old. You are defined by the songs you listen to when you're home alone. The movies that you watch; especially the ones that can make you break down in tears no matter how many times you've seen it. But most importantly, you are defined by the words you write. The string of thoughts that you could never say out loud. The words you should have said to that certain person can be told through your poems, and the words that you shouldn't have said can be scrubbed out with an eraser in the fraction of a second. See, this is why you matter.
You matter because you are a poet. You are not just an ordinary person; you have a passion like no other. You see things that the world does not; like the beauty of a sunset or the meaning behind a song or the sadness hidden through a smile. You over-analyse everything, but that's okay because you are a poet. You can find a reason to write just because of something someone said to you, or a good day, or a bad day. In fact, you cherish the bad days because those are the times when your writing shines like the sun coming up after a long day of rain.
You are so beautiful, and everyone can see it but you. You look in the mirror and count each and every flaw you see. You wish you could be prettier, you wish you could be happier, you wish you could be like the popular kids at your school. You wish you could play sports instead of hiding out in your room all day writing a bunch of crap. But it's not crap... It is the most pure and absolutely extraordinary thing in this world. Why? Because you are a poet. Your words are who you are. Don't you dare become popular; don't you dare change who you are. You are a poet. You are unique. You are so, so beautiful.
Hands stained with ink, pencil behind your ear, notebook hidden in your back pocket. No make-up, hair pulled up, wearing your comfiest hoody. You don't have brand name clothing, or an expensive car. You don't go out partying, or eat at fancy restaurants. Why? Because you are a poet. You drink tea, not wine. You wear sweatpants, not dresses. Converse, not stilletos. You are not a model. You are not an actress. You are not like the others.
You are not outgoing. In fact, you are extremely quiet and shy. But you are kind, so so kind. You care about others, not yourself. You are the listener, not the talker. You are the nurturer. You are the lover of books, of literature, of English. You are a poet.
I do not know you. But I hope to meet you one day, I hope to share my poems with you and cry over sappy love stories and get drunk off tea with you. Why? Because you are a poet. And so am I.

Sincerely yours,
Another Poet
Jett Bleue Mar 2013
One picture, that’s all I have.
Barely enough to identify her from Eve.
But I know from what I have seen,
That she is all I need.
Drawn out anxiously awaited replies,
Endless time spent picking my words,
Avoiding any slip that will cause her to log out and leave.
Black text on a white screen shouldn't mean this much to me.
But I analyse and re-analyse her words etched into the pages of internet history religiously.
Every sentence read in ‘she loves me, she loves me not’.
I do this utterly uncertain as to who she is.
Her mystique has possessed me.
For all I know she’s sat next to me.
But I do know we’re one in the same;
Two twenty-first century keyboard lovers.
You are my favourite poet
You inspire me
It goes without saying that I love you
And even more so
When you breathe your words into me
And pierce my soul with your ink
Never stop writing your phrases on my heart
Always tell me in abstract
How my chameleon eyes remind you of calm streams
And brighter days served in a history of torment
We are two lost pieces to the puzzle
pushed under the couch
Vidi vici veni
I love it because you said it and I believed you
Because it is one thing
to say one thing is another
But it takes a poet to analyse it to it's full potential
So analyse me
Talk me into your amazing mind
And you can with ease
Because you are my favourite poet
Nigdaw May 2023
they take my blood for their machines
to analyse
the very heart of me
laid bare to scrutiny

a diagnosis
of an ill I never realised
I needed a prescription for
just to survive
so nice of them
to save my life
but I feel fine
SassyJ Feb 2016
Juxtapositional Refinement Redefined  (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)**
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
== JRR ==
by
SassyJ
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Credits to: Angelina Lopez (HP Poetess)

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Juxtapositional refinement redefined:
When you meet beautiful souls we have been taught by the society to confine them. Like "I love you" but what does that word really mean. Does it mean "sharing in openness" or does it mean " been confined in expectations and obligations".
The paradigm that we live in as society is delusional. We have learnt to analyse the "in between" based on our analytical and logical systems. But how about going to the individuals involved and creating an open dialogue to talk about what the situation may be. This is a thorough and more accurate way of attaining acuity.
To flow in openness is like listening to 'harmonious jazz music' ...... it is like inhaling the beauty of the ginger scent in the breeze.
Life itself speaks to us and we don't have to make it complicated. If we only were able to have an open platform..... hearts that are blissful and not tainted by fear then we can redefine the contrasting views of dichotomy that we have as mankind.
In essence, If you haven't communicated to someone openly about something ...... we should never draw out conclusions. They will only be pre-judgemental notions oozing with constraining predefined and predetermined assumptions. Give everyone a chance and the world will smile!
Follow the spoken word linking sound cloud https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/sounds-from-thursday-afternoon
Elizabeth mbugua Aug 2015
The bird that flew away

This is me, this is my story
I met this bird and loved it
I took it all out, took out all the love,
Well, I dint die for it but I gave it my life,
I gave it everything; from body to mind and heart and soul
I dint remember to leave me some of me,
To leave a little love that would shed in me some light
In moments of darkness


I forgot, wait, I did not forget, I knew,
I was told, I read about it, had seen it before
May be even experienced it; the fact that nothing lasts
Forever!

Call me blind cause I couldn’t see,
Deaf, cause all warnings fell on a deaf ear
Lame cause I couldn’t walk away when all the signs were showing,
Worst student cause I couldn’t learn from my past mistakes,
But judge not cause I thought I was wise and brilliant  
everymistake,I tried to rectify,
at times, its mistakes

I broke them all; boundaries and principles
I fell naked, stripped off my guards
That is why when we broke apart, I crushed!
Nothing from the inside inspired me to get back up,
Everything became angry, with, at, me
From my heart, to soul, to mind and body,
Just because I did not preserve a piece of each for such alone times

Now it’s hard, everything is hard,
Nothing in me wants to venture in new places
well, I don’t blame them for they’ve been shuttered
piece by piece and left for death
on the heart and soul so dark a paint has been spread
with colors of sadness and pain and sorrow, name them all

The mind is also tired, tired of me taking it back
to moments it doesn’t want to recall,
I’ve forced it to be hopeful, leading it to roads not travelled,
Times it comes back smiling and I hear it say,as it retires to sleep,
there is where I wanna live,
in a place where all I can think of is happy endings,
that place where I don’t have to analyse letters,
single letters, trying to give a meaning to each
The eyes too wanna sleep, they want to close and not stay wide open
Cause they are flooded with tears,
they want to see and appreciate all the beauty the world has
They stay wide awake at night
Staring into the dark, not because they have a choice but rather
they don’t want to close in to the darkness inside,
They prefer the one on the outside because it looks brighter

My hands too are tired, they ought to invite by embrace
but not push any bird trying to get close;
they are tired because they’ve pushed enough of them away
all because they have been made to believe that
the bird that flew away will find its way back to their warmth

All of me is tired, tired of always going back to the past
Clinging on to it and not living in the present
Cause am too busy reminiscing about the past
Tired of forcing out those who try to get in my life
All in fear that at some point they will leave,
That they will not look back like the first bird did
Tired of thinking that there is no bird out there
That doesn’t neglect its own nest,
When, say, the trees are cut down,
Not one comes back to collect the blades of grass it used to make the nest
And build with them better nests in a different place.

I’ve pushed so many and I dint realize it
till this one, it was exquisitely dark and a bit build
with a honeyed voice, which drew me to it,
and it seems it is the only thing I am left to keep
I hear it from the back of my head and
Every single day when it airs those rootsie songs
Oh yes! Those rootsie songs it knows best how to
It was coming in second, maybe best
But my wrecked being couldn’t just wait to find out,
And all it is now is a lesson
I watched it fly,  I let this one fly away
Not nice, not nice at all

But to its end is a promise to thyself
I wont let another fly away
Anonymess Jun 2017
So I took a sleeping pill.
For hours I lay awake staring at the ceiling,
Thinking of what I've said, done and how things could have been.
Thinking of tomorrow, and how it might be different,
And I lie awake because I don't know if I'm brave enough for it.
I lie awake thinking until my head starts to hurt
From imagining a world where I'm whole and not broke.
I see this world and it's so crystal clear,
But only when I'm lying awake trying to disappear.
And so a took a sleeping pill.

I took a sleeping pill.
And pray to sleep, because when I sleep I get to dream.
But wait, who actually who wants to dream
When the images seen are like that of a birds broken wings?
The bird tries to keep moving but the pain holds it hostage
And my wings, just like that birds, no longer move nor fly.
So rather I analyse all the little things in my head
And I tell myself I won't look any stronger if I'm both asleep and dead.
So I took a sleeping pill.

— The End —