The ties that bind us are the very ones that separate us.
We have shared a lot of things in common;
And yet most of those common things put a barrier between us.
We have laughed at the same jokes,
Danced to the same drums,
Rejoiced to similar songs,
And sang in similar tunes;
The ties that bind us together.
And yet our differences are always ever apparent.

For as I laugh with tears in my eyes,
You laugh with your teeth,
Hiding the very emotion that binds us from the world to see;
As I dance to the budima drums,
You dance to the drum beats of the kuomboka,
Having the sound that binds us, separate us by how its produced.
I dance to ching’ande and you dance to mfukutu,
Excusing the world from seeing our similar steps.

Oh, the ties that bind us.
I sang Jesus loves me when you sang give me the bible;
Spreading your words in Bemba as I spread mine in Tonga.
How the ties that bind us are so quick to separate us.

Wow, I say to myself as I look at you standing right in front of me.
The bonds of our ties grow stronger as we grow older,
And yet weaker with the passage of time;
We share from the same vein, bound by blood forever;
And yet the differences in the ******* that provided for us separate us.
We come from the same womb,
And yet the little differences in the arrangement of our protein molecules make us different.
Indeed the ties that bind us.

Our mother rejoices in calling us all her children;
And yet the men that take pride in us differ.
Our father sings songs of the products of his manhood;
And yet the women that sing along with him sing differently.
He is the tie that binds;
And he the one that separates us.

"granday"

its not a *******
twang,
like a rubber band loosened up,
you're like a white sheet
with absolutely no
wrinkles no
lint no
culture.

its not a droop of letters,
like the syllables are carrying old bathwater
on hunched spines;

you sound like dusty paper
left on the shelf too long.

its
"grande"
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.

fill your mouth with mid-august sweat
and belt it out like a pistol,
bullets ripping the fabric of blue
sky.
you are a flame in snow,
your tongue is supposed to be dancing on the top of your mouth
when you say it,

"grande"
roll your 'r's like you would to tamales in
corn flour,
like you would your body in mud
carpeting every inch of your soul in dark, crusted
veneer,
stuck between your toes.

your tongue is supposed to be ***.
exotic chocolate,
french rain.

your tongue is supposed to be like a wild motorboat upon
the raging ocean,
hitting the 'r's with savage animosity
                                                    "g­-rrrrrrrr-ande"
none of these
"grandays"
words like plummeting wrinkles
under tired eyes, your lips like dead fish floating
shallow and flaccid
in lukewarm
soup.
like rotting fruit left out too long,  
squashed, useless, a waste.

do not fill your mouth with
mierda,
****
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.

Menu supne ande rehnde a
Tere te ode ni
Ohnu bhenchod nu sine te sulawe
Tu har raat hanere ni
Mera chehra nai ghumda
Tere odo chaar chufere?

Une matha chumea pehla?
Ya hath chumme tere?

Son nai dinde menu eh khyaal
Sari raat ehi soch ke lang janda
Ki kite pregnent ta nai hongai
Aj eh kita hona
Oh kita hona
Dil te satt lagdi he
Bus hanju nai ande, bcz show nai kr sakda hanju
Udo ronda ha andro andri

Menu apni galti di saz mil rahi he
Nd me kush ha ki menu saza mil rahi he
Saali fat jandi he
Nd daily fatdi he

Menu ta ande hi ande ne
Meri gharwali nu bi tere supne aan lag gaye
Kal
Kendi ik
Gal
Dasa, me keha daso. Kendi gussa na kreo
Me kal sapne wich heena dekhi.
Nd me shocked. Me ki kaha te ki nai.

Usnu bada dar lagda thuhade to. Kai baar roi he oh bi thuhade krke

Aquellas quienes son alguien solo frente a un espejo, quienes sienten lo que son con la camara de su telefono, quienes les importa retocarse por horas para estar minutos en un lugar, son esas personas las que no quiero en mi vida.
Quiero quien se ponga feliz de ver un bosque, que se ria a carcajadas cuando la lluvia las invadio sin aviso, quien disfrute de las luciernagas como de las estrellas, que se descalze a sentir el pasto y juegue con sus dedos en el, que no le importe la gente pero que si le importe el mundo y todo lo que hay en el, que cuando mire sea amor y solo amor, que te acompañe sin invadir, que viva el mundo a contramano y siempre para adelante, que te alimente de felicidad y alegria sin pedir nada a cambio.
Quiero una persona que no ande a las corridas y valore lo que la rodea, que pueda hacer sus cosas con felicidad y no la invadan ni la sofoquen.
Quizas sea utopico pero yo se que esa persona existe, y la quiero conocer, que me invada de amor con una mirada, que nos riamos como locos en una hamaca porque los demas nos estan juzgando.
Quizas este loco, quizas nadie me entienda, pero ya conozco muchos locos, lo que pido no es fuera de lo comun, quiero ver su cara y conocer su nombre porque aunque no la conozca ya estoy enamorado de ella.

first of all the school closed
for a little while, just a few days
as if in solidarity
but actually in fear
along with all the other schools around it
great hulking buildings cowering silently
behind meagre security systems.

when we went back we couldn't get in
we had to have passes
be buzzed in at the door like strangers
while a fish-eyed camera lens glared at us
metallic, stark, judgmental.

then the drills began.
lessons suddenly interrupted
taken over by escape procedures and gas masks
why were there gas masks?
i don't know.

we, as children,
were taught how to hide
how to cower under our desks
how to build ourselves into corners -
how a triangle is the strongest shape
(i tried this once,
a few months later,
in a different situation.
it didn't work.)

the drill would sound, horrendously loud
a bell screaming at us
hysterical, panicking
but we must remain calm
remain calm, the teachers said
get under your desks
or something stronger if you can
build yourself a fortress
don't try to be heroic.

our friends died in that massacre
and other people did yesterday
over the sea (ande bari pani)
and i cannot stop thinking about them.

i can't say i know how it feels,
because everyone reacts differently
in situations
like this.

but i have been closer than most
to this particular fire
to the feeling of ragged helplessness
as you stand at the sideline,
praying that the next person to stop drawing breath
is not one you know.

these thoughts haunt you later:
how can i be so selfish, you ask yourself
what could possibly make it ok
for someone else's loved one to die
as long as their path had not crossed my own?

tonight i sit
huddled over a notebook
crouched on the edge of my bed
as this gnawing physical ache
pierces further into my stomach.

i stay here in the silence,
try to write,
because i need to get out
what i'm thinking about
but there is no way,
not really.

no way that i can adequately tell
of the horror
the realisation of what has happened
that these awful things that you see in the movies
can also be real.
no way that i can eloquently speak
about the look on a mother's face
as she discovers that her child is gone.
"it's the wrong way round!" she'll scream later,
"it should have been me first!"
but for now she just crumples
her face folding within itself
her mouth collapsing in a silent scream,
she drains grey.

no way that i can really speak
of what i actually want to say
and so instead
i say simply:that

my thoughts are in connecticut
there are no words for this.

Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos
con las golondrinas y los misiles
quiero que vuelvas antes de que olvides
como se llega al sur de Río Grande

Padre nuestro que estás en el exilio
casi nunca te acuerdas de los míos
de todos modos dondequiera que estés
santificado sea tu nombre
no quienes santifican en tu nombre
cerrando un ojo para no ver la uñas
sucias de la miseria

en agosto de mil novecientos sesenta
ya no sirve pedirte
venga a nos el tu reino
porque tu reino también está aquí abajo
metido en los rencores y en el miedo
en las vacilaciones y en la mugre
en la desilusión y en la modorra
en esta ansia de verte pese a todo

cuando hablaste del rico
la aguja y el camello
y te votamos todos
por unanimidad para la Gloria
también alzó su mano el indio silencioso
que te respetaba pero se resistía
a pensar hágase tu voluntad

sin embargo una vez cada
tanto tu voluntad se mezcla con la mía
la domina
la enciende
la duplica
más arduo es conocer cuál es mi voluntad
cuándo creo de veras lo que digo creer
así en tu omnipresencia como en mi soledad
así en la tierra como en el cielo
siempre
estaré más seguro de la tierra que piso
que del cielo intratable que me ignora

pero quién sabe
no voy a decidir
que tu poder se haga o deshaga
tu voluntad igual se está haciendo en el viento
en el Ande de nieve
en el pájaro que fecunda a su pájara
en los cancilleres que murmuran yes sir
en cada mano que se convierte en puño

claro no estoy seguro si me gusta el estilo
que tu voluntad elige para hacerse
lo digo con irreverencia y gratitud
dos emblemas que pronto serán la misma cosa
lo digo sobre todo pensando en el pan nuestro
de cada día y de cada pedacito de día

ayer nos lo quitaste
dánosle hoy
o al menos el derecho de darnos nuestro pan
no sólo el que era símbolo de Algo
sino el de miga y cáscara
el pan nuestro
ya que nos quedan pocas esperanzas y deudas
perdónanos si puedes nuestras deudas
pero no nos perdones la esperanza
no nos perdones nunca nuestros créditos

a más tardar mañana
saldremos a cobrar a los fallutos
tangibles y sonrientes forajidos
a los que tienen garras para el arpa
y un panamericano temblor con que se enjugan
la última escupida que cuelga de su rostro

poco importa que nuestros acreedores perdonen
así como nosotros
una vez
por error
perdonamos a nuestros deudores

todavía
nos deben como un siglo
de insomnios y garrote
como tres mil kilómetros de injurias
como veinte medallas a Somoza
como una sola Guatemala muerta

no nos dejes caer en la tentación
de olvidar o vender este pasado
o arrendar una sola hectárea de su olvido

ahora que es la hora de saber quiénes somos
y han de cruzar el río
el dólar y el amor contrarrembolso
arráncanos del alma el último mendigo
y líbranos de todo mal de conciencia
amén.

the problem with this world is that
we are often told what we can not do than what we can do
we often mask who we are  to be something someone wants us to be
we hide from what we are capapble of to display what we have already acomplished

but that is not me
i was not the girl who drew hearts on her notebooks.
i was more the girl who knew she was destined for greatness
never the straight a student but always tried hard to achieve that a+
putting away the skeletons in my closest and opening the door to see the  beatiful human that i am trying to become

being a teenager is hard for everyone.
society has changed we have hard drive instead of a brain
we sit inside and memorize all these words on the lines that i will try our hardest to recall later on that sheet of paper.
but i am trying to expand my mind to not see in black and white but look and see the rainbow.
You see
the world is a beautifulplace  if you stop looking at your glass half empty, and look it as being filled. when its dark look for stars, and when it rains look for a rainbow. just look inside your self you will see you are experienced and capablale to things you are truly meant to be. this is not a poem to make you sad or ruin your day. Just someone telling you, you should be greatful. we all have purpose, and i know i cant realate to your greatest struggles which makes me wordless.

someone once told me  lifes a rollercoaster ande enjoy the ride, i truly hate that quote. because life is more like writting a book, the ending no ones choice but your own. school is not made for me, but i still go. do you understand what im saying, or still no?

ill put it in a way that better understand for those who dont want to expand their brains. WE ARE FORCED TO DO THINGS WE HATE BECAUSE IT WILL MAKE US GREAT. bill gates didnt finish highschool horray, but what he has that we dont is a brain, that sees the colors of all the rainbows  and uses it to paint. this is a poem to brighten up your day
I have question its not that simple. Would you rather be known for something mediocore or unknown one for one of the greatest things in the world genius book? You see more people would say they want to be famous, because they are lazy and shameless. That shouldnt be so
I started this poem and i didnt know what to write, I wanted to make people happy and take a step outside. the most beautiful things are not just what you see and feel, but the things that your brain has yet to revealed.

i watched this video on youtube that was a little boring, this guy told me there are 10 facts to succedding in this world.in this life. in this portal thats a creaton of lies. it made it seem like it was from a movie, reading lines, he himself didnt believe what he was saying.just getting paid from a corrupt system called the board of education. It confused me  i didnt know what i wanted to be, i thought  i was to late i missed the train to get into that good college...to succeed with those 10 facts he gave me. I finished watching and decided to write 10 of my own. 10 always keep your head up. for many of you have ever taken a train, and have missed that train you understand that with one comes another. 9 never compare your self to others. there will be someone with more and less than you.  there will always be someone who wants to be better than you. You are riding your bike and your seven years old and you say to all your friends "Hey look i can ride down this hill all on my own" theres that one boy who must be greater than your greatest achievement. so he climbs even higher and says "hey everyone i can ride down this hill all on my own too" and you look and you watch him and you get so sad so you say "hey look i can do it with out any knee pads" you were excited and ready to be better than him so you did it without thinking of the trouble you could get in.  when you were getting to the bottom you got nervous and you couldnt brake.  when you got off you saw the kid who still has his training wheels on from first grade. 8 never judge others by the way they appear. you are now 10 and you are going on the subway for the first time you see a mother and child and no daddy in sight. you see no shopping bags just tons of ragidy clothes, you assume they are poor with no home. you get off, so do they, at the same stop to be precise. you see the child run into his daddys hands and says "dad the marathon went great". 7 never follow but never lead





So dont get on that rollercoaster it ***** i swear, just start writting a book nd stay faithful

Áureos buriles en pulido mármol
Graben su nombre; que su busto esplenda
Alto y severo; que su sien decore
Lauro apolíneo.

Musa del bardo que cantó las hondas
Selvas y ríos de la patria... Musa
Libre del Ande, que a su tumba vienes,
¡Pliega las alas!

Ara intocada de su ardiente culto
Fue siempre el Arte; y con unción votiva
Dio, como ofrenda a los eternos Númenes,
Ánforas bellas.

Arcade nuevo, de la selva andina
Hizo, en sus cantos, a los dioses templo;
Y ellos oyeron, de su lira acorde,
Clásicos ritmos

Himnos los suyos armoniosos fueron,
Cantos de hosanna, que cual triunfo vibran
Hoy, cuando extraños ¡Poesía sacra!
Ajan tu veste;

Veste que siempre fulguró distante,
Peplo de diosa en consagrado plinto,
Y hora, arambeles que en el hombro lleva
Vulgo profano.

Frentes se inclinan a su paso. El cielo
Radia en fulgores, y el silencio crece;
Y óyese, lejos, en azul de altura
Vuelo de águilas.

Raudo desfile sobre erial galopa...
¡Potros salvajes que cantó! Las crines
Sueltas al aire... y al tropel de cascos
Tiembla la pampa.

Potros pamperos... ¿Los oís? De polvo
Nubes levantan, y al tocar la cumbre
Rápido el viento, retrasado vuela,
Vuela tras ellos.

Rojas corolas cual la sangre suya,
Ecos de bosques y armonías altas,
Fueron de su alma, segador de ensueños,
Lírica siega.

Frente a sus ojos se extendió anchurosa
Selva de siglos, con inmensas aguas;
Tierra fecunda, y el azul cortando
Fúlgido el Huila.

Toda la tierra tropical; e inmenso
Campo a su vista, con hervir de savia;
Y ávido entonces de laureles, hizo
Suya la selva.

Sueña una garza en su visión de bosque,
Tiende a las ondas el nevado cuello,
Y alza en el pico, destellando en iris,
Vivida escama.

Fue claro río que en radiantes días
Ceibas y palmas contempló en sus ondas,
Y albo de espumas, reflejó de noche
Rubias estrellas.

Diáfano el cielo palpitó en su canto,
Alas de cimas por sus versos se oyen,
Y álzase de ellos, cual de vasos níveos,
Hálito eterno.

Áureos buriles en pulido mármol
Graben su nombre; que su busto esplenda
Alto y severo, y que su sien decore
Lauro apolíneo.

Oh pastor, no prosigas por ese agrio camino
Los saltos de esa cabra. Déjala. En la ladera
Ande nos da el estío morada placentera,
Tu esperar es inútil al fulgor vespertino.

Quedémonos. Tendremos higos rojos y vino.
Labra de despertamos la aurora en la ribera.
Habla paso. Los Dioses nos hallaran doquiera,
Hécate esta mirándonos con su mirar divino.

En aquel antro oscuro donde el viento se agita,
El Sátiro, demonio de estos sitios, habita;
Salir podría acaso si oye nuestras palabras.

¿No escuchas en sus labios cantar el caramillo?
Es él. Sus dobles cuernos lucen dorado brillo,
Y al claro de la luna danzar hace mis cabras.

Do you know what is the biggest poision?
It’s “regret”

Thuhadi yaad khai ja rahi menu andro di
Me wife naal
Hoke bi usde naal nai
Me u bare sochi janda
Ap dowa de moments yaad ande
doaba de moments yaad a jande

Pata nai kiwe sakoon milu menu

U da address pata krna koi waddi gal nai
Bus me pata nai krna chanda
Me nai chanda tuci hor dukh jhalo mere krke
Pehla hi bade made time wicho nikle ** mere krke
Te *** mera time he us time wicho niklan da
Waheguru kre me nikal
Jawa is time wicho

lave bem teus cabelos e encha uma caneca com um excelente pó de café ou em grãos.
selecione um bom hidratante e conheça cada centímetro de pele do teu corpo.
acenda um cigarro, dê um trago e depois jogue-o fora, se assim preferir.
tire uma foto de algo ou alguém que amas muito. depois emoldure e pendure numa parede bonita. talvez em tons de ciano ou magenta.
olhe bem pro céu. se for chuva calce uma bota, se for sol ande descalço. ou vice-versa.
pense no que gostaria de almoçar hoje.
prepare uma refeição com as próprias mãos que supere suas expectativas.
talvez alho e pimenta. ou quem sabe só um pouco de sal.
tente sorrir agora e se não conseguir tudo bem. faça outra tentativa mais tarde.
respire devagarinho.
pense em todas as nuvens do mundo.
diga que se ama apesar de tudo.

La gloria, con arrugas dejó su huella hundida
De ese gran Caballero sobre la faz, severa,
Y fulgor en su frente, que siempre irguió altanera,
Lleva, de las batallas en que jugó la vida.

En Costa-Firme, en valles y cumbres, su aguerrida
Y poderosa mano plantó la cruz doquiera,
Y del Ande condujo su familiar bandera
Hasta el golfo en que blanca se eleva la Florida.

Tu pincel en la tela, para los de su raza
Hace que surja ahora, bajo férrea coraza,
El noble antepasado, con su marcial decoro;

Y parece, anhelante, que su mirada busca,
En un cielo metálico cuyo fulgor ofusca,
El gran deslumbramiento de la Castilla de Oro.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

              Avon Man and the Mystery of His First-Best Bed

                   I gyve unto my wief my second best bed…

          -Attributed to Shakespeare in his will. Or Churchill. Or
          Milton. Or Elvis. Or Some Famous Man. And Shakespeare
          was secretly a Catholic. (No, he wasn’t.) (Yes, he was.) (No, he
          wasn’t.) (Yes, he was; I read it on the InterGossip.)

That second-best bed doesn’t matter a pop
Those anyones whoever slept in it are deads
Memorialized as dashboard bobbleheads
At Ye Olde Anne Hathawaye gifte shoppe

Kinge Richarde nevere cryede, “mye kyngdome fore ye bedde!”
Yea, goode olde Sirre Erpinghame joked, “Now lye I like a kynge”
So what’s the deale withe the firste-beste bedde thynge?
Thatte seconde bedde is where the Widowe rested hir hedde

Ande thusse ye scholares maken withouten cessatione
Unsupportede argumentes and allegationes

snitches end up in stitches
is low level
mystery of lawlessness
the uper tier
of the mystery of lawlesness
resides with the words:
that an American girl asks:
i don't like being GRASSED UP...
Grypsera round of talk
i was forever surrounded by
the ancient talk of Cain
instead of being a snitch ending
up in stitches
so the clown Joker
and Batman is not really
formidable
so the make-up came off
he's rather pathetic
but only as a reicarnation formible
now imagine Christ reincarnated
and not wanting to die on the cross again...
or the only way to sacrifice oneself
would be in name of Allah and jihad
and commit a suicide
enforcing it on others without the allure
of a cult...
charisma just outright existential ****...
jechowa: he who hides them:
all these Muslim girls then...
hiding under Niqabs and look! look!
there walked Martin Luther (the German,
not the Junior) past with the Greek Gnostic
Heretics!

i didn't reply with a warning:
snitches her stitches:
i said:
i don't like being GRASSED UP...
savvy?
so next day he brought his sdog
the dog
and the dog licked my beard
but not my mouth or nose
i didn't let him
a terrier XL some BULL and DOG
breed like dachund
or whever 40kg
the war dogs of Rome
are still legal
the regal bull terrier
some weird mix apparently the only dogs
that **** are the ones
who have been submitted to ******
and inbreeding with
finally no soul in replica
as exported:
countless times Oedipus in dogs
but only one i hope
in humans...
as lesson: or otherwise tactic:
to breed Orc friendly anything else living
fierce...
so 18 years older than you
and not a sugar mommy and a kid in tow?
ever see than movie:
transparency... no... tranquility... no..
transcendence... no...
  detachment - yes the daughter the *******
but now i could be asked
what fictional characters are you?
Flauber: because Madame Bovary is real:
Flaubert, Humbert Humbert and Julien Sorel...
those are three main protagonist:
and according to Sarte who is the censor...
hmm? censor?
Edith Valitskey...
                 because no no: not another ghost!
i'm thinking abouit raising a daughter
that isn't my daughter:
i think i'll try to hide behind
*** for a little bit...
      until i get a new taste for water
and salt and sugar ande gravity.

Eintracht Frankurt came to London
and people asked me
whether i was a German
Andrews we talked
with Toby
in school about the bellybutton
and now i think he's my neighbor
and Pius about Ghana
and there was so much talk
of America
and going back to work i felt
relaxed
like i let things happens
and there were so many people
and no Noah in sight...
there were so few animals
willing to continue their existence
with us: humans
the cursed animals
so only the crows
as reminders
as pigeons as poems
as seagulls for the rallying cry of the Volk...
PRTAKTISCH VOLK
PRAKTISCH
i practice people
i see the child
and in that frame of art and mirror
the stature of marriage
among other males
is taggering... staggering...
it's either wine...
balsmaic vinegar
or any other vinegar
beer carried him off like a fizzy drink
and ***** and water align:
what other animals like
man without god or soul
is the lion in the zoo?
what is Witgenstein's Lion in Zoo
with Kneprick the Cat of Shroedinger
is a Lion in a Cage
in Man in Francis Bacon Portraits
of Freud-****** mannerisms
like combining **** with tobacco
is like Freud snorted *******
and ****** snorted amphetamines...
the ego crushing weight
of the self: in trip...
just in public: among people
Essex slang
when a vulnerable male
suckles up to you
Hammers in the Cockerels...
Hammer Cockerels...
Woolwich wankers
Arsenal are Millwall in disguise
while Tottenham are West Ham
in disguise...
Millwalls originates among the Scots:
the harvest of the Black Plague Industrialah
the Industrial Age
and the Black Plague:
move man into the society
i will shower you gold upon gold
so much till you arrive at FIAT
and where money is already
metaphysical: currency...
and there is so much talk of monkey
in money swimming for dog treatment
by cutting off the tail
for the dobberman
i didn't walk around the workplace
being all friendly and giving gestures
i was so Kauaian relaxed
i had my ***** at my side:
Reyla... coming into work...
like school with cages:
work is school: with cages...
work is school: school 2.0
work is work is school and school
oh dear
i just walked around
and looked at faces
and those that recognised me
and with who i had mutual esteem...
i said to Charles, Carlisle...
i got married...
when asked where i was for all of March...
where could a pauper security guard
go for a month
and i didn't own a yacht
but the love of my mother
and with wind to speak of
my father to guide me
and i can only find a brother
who is on the driftwood of the sea of time
with only the rivers in our mind
never able to be rivers
among the sea of time
against the crux of the grain of sand
he is not my son of god
my messiah
my one and only
he is my brother
who could dare to ask
to be his equal but never the original
but the ***** was fixed
and we waited
we knew
how this game was going to get played out
i lingered... slow... slowly...
speaking to old African Women
and in my dreams i dreamnt of the Baba Yaga
and i was just playing a game...
and i love the perfect happenstance magic
flicker.. of angelic wings...
i was asked: the glow of the marriage ring
he just sat down and i felt GAY
are you... sweeet? are you?
are you sweeet?
                         Essex into New York insertion
of "cool"...
            are you sweet?
the matter was resolved... i saw more patterns
of arrows...
brother O brother... what strange god
so corporeal and so cognition stealing
therefore if true:
wouldn't you want a mitigation...
of how emotions are reasoned with?
after all this is not about
the two dualisms within a dichotomy
or a dualism of two dichotomies:
i'm leaving behind the Use of Two Tongues
which: is... to be frank...
a bit different to what Philosophers Offer
in their realm of Monolingualism...

BILINGUALISM-SCHIZOPHRENIA:
i came into AUTISM month...
i think people think i'm autistic
but then i snap out of my autism
and i am too quick
a Tasmanian devil of tongues on Kauai...
let the choir sing
and that is heaven with god
but then there us in the democracy
of hell: that is within the realms of
purgatory...
and that also argues:
the synonymous hierarchies of heaven
when singing meets
with speaking...
and speaking comes from seeing
and seeing might come from words
and constellation of stars
and from there: came thoughts...
from the stars came thoughts
and not through our own cruel gods
let us go to the stars
but dreaming bigger
bigger than the people who dreamnt
actually making that first step...
let's work on the first step of man
on the moon...
and let's make more of those golgotha
magnets for the fridge
the best harem ande brothel
is my wife
and i get the dark project
for ego and the kantian noumenon
of the trinity in its most pure sense..
and the impure... less graphic...
    
three burger down man van
and i almost giggled a buddha from seeing
the chicken nuggets sink into his
giggles and gibberish that
i felt i might as well drink
a bottle of red
otherwise with you
i'd eat too much and drink some apple cider
vinegar to tobacco is tied to marijuana
now you tie apple cider vinegar to water
to *****
now let us visualise wine
the flowing feeling
yes but the first
step on the moon...
and where thoughts originate from:
the ordeal of the stars...
the invention of numbers
and trans-punctuation marks:

how to otherwise 1 + 1 = 2
and i: thought;
            this: for that: there:
i am: and: am not -
         such thoughts like trajectories
of keeping the cool
learning from Polynesia
but a Chronos in the Kitchen...
a terrible boss:
no chances in the kitchen
let's me know about my huspand
and how work happens
and how chill he is...
and she doesn't know how chill i am
at work... she thinks i'm not so cool
but her little girl i
think she thinks i'm cool
and i'm just being cool...
so cool off... please...

such epic demands:
like i must reread James Joyce's Ulysses
i don't know why i missed
the toilet scene...
i missed the toilet scene...
but i will have to sell me
my Dickens and Balzac
from the Victorian Era of Publishing
and Printing...
a bit like finding collectors
of Vinyl Liquirice...

     and there is so much jungle-flesh
and how i wish i was more
body and flesh
but i am: all mind and some octopus
i am not a fighter
i am a talker
and i'm o.k. with that
because my daughter
has good stock
of the dead father
like unlike the ***** bank
i am actually looking for a complete
psychological profile of a woman
that completely disregards her biological reality
and i choose the bioological reality
of the woman's voice...
as direct as mine in defence...
listen... no one is talking
about the 2nd ****** Birth
because that Implies...
the 2nd ******* Coming is No'Coming! M'un...
it.. ain't... *******... happening:
too much reality is
probably just enough reality
sorry
but Christianity is still the 2000 years
of feminism that
is finallyt being humble Satan
and exposing itself
Christianity is... deductively...
with Heidegger's hammer and...
well... hand-job...
    Christianity became Feminism:
thank you... the end...