INTRODUCTION TO THE FIRST WORLD WAR
            BY RAJ NANDY: PART ONE

                   INTRODUCTION
  “What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
         Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
        Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
    Can patter out their hasty orisons.”
      -by Wilfred Owen, British Army Lt. killed in
        action in France on 04th Nov 1918.

The Socialists called it the ‘Imperialist’s War’,
and it was the ‘Trench War’ for the soldiers;
But Europe hailed it as ‘The War to End All Wars’,                
Expecting it to end prior to 1914’s Christmas!
But alas, it soon became a mighty global war
fueled by national and ethnic aspirations and
territorial lust!
The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, heir
to the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, -
On the 28thof June 1914 at Sarajevo, was the
spark which triggered off this great catastrophe!
During 1876 when German Chancellor Bismarck
was asked about chances of an European War at
a future date;
He felt that Europe was like a big store house of
gunpowder keg!
While pointing to the volatile BALKANS he had said,
That European leaders were smoking in an arsenal,
where a small spark could cause a mighty explosion!
And 38 years later the world had witnessed,
Bismarck’s unfortunate prediction!
This war ended on 11th of November 1918, after a
four and half year’s long duration;
With 16.5 million military and civilian deaths, and
many more wounded and missing in action!
For the War had spread beyond the traditional
killing fields,
Killing many innocent civilians following the
bombing raids by German Zeppelins!
Now, before proceeding further some background
information here becomes necessary,
To understand the socio-political events leading
to the unfolding of this Great War Story!

         PRELUDE TO THE GREAT WAR
The Nationalistic fervor aroused by Napoleon,
And the February Revolution of 1848 in France,
Inspired Europe’s inhabitants to preserve their
ethnic and racial identities, without leaving
things to chance!
The Italian and German unification, and the
Hapsburg Austro-Hungarian polarization,
Aroused the expectations of the Slavic people,
Who remained spread all over Central and
Eastern Europe!
The various ethnic groups forming the Slavic race,
Always dreamt of an independent Balkan State!

         CAUSES FOR ‘THE GREAT WAR’
Imperialism, Nationalism, Militarization, Alliances,
and finally the assassination of the Archduke
Ferdinand,
Are the five main causes for this war, which is
generally mentioned by our Historians!
However, I shall now try to acquaint you briefly,  
With some relevant events from our recorded
History.

BRITISH IMPERIALISM:
Towards the turn of the 20th century Britain was
the dominant global imperial power;
And since the mid-19th Century it was seen that
the sun never set over the British Empire!
The British had a vast mercantile and a naval fleet,
To trade with, and administer their far flung colonies.
At the turn of the 20th Century the British Navy was
changing over from steam to oil power like other
big nations;
So the oil fields of the Middle East was important
for British militarization.
Also passage through the Suez Canal was vital for
maintaining their colonial possessions!
These facts will get linked up in Part Two of my
later composition!

GERMAN NATIONALISM:
The nationalistic fervor aroused in Germany
since Chancellor Bismarck’s days,
Made the Germans try to outstrip the British
in many ways!
This fervor was reflected in Goethe’s poetry and
through Richard Wagner’s musical notes;
Between 1898 and 1912 five Naval Laws were
passed in the German Reichstag, by majority
votes,
For building battleships, cruisers, and 96 torpedo
boats;
Which later became a scourge for Allied and
British shipping, known as the U-Boats!
The German nationalism and militarization went
hand in hand during those days,
While her industrialization also progressed at a
rapid pace.
Kaiser Wilhelm II had sought “a place in the sun”
by trying to outstrip the British in the arms race!
Statistic show more number of German scientists
had received the Noble Prize for their inventions,
Between this period and World War- II, when
compared with the combined winners of other
Western nations!

AUSTRIA-HUNGARIAN MONARCHY:
In 1867 by a comprising agreement between
Vienna and Budapest the capital cities,
The Austro-Hungarian kingdom became a Dual
Monarchy!
Many ethnic groups had composed this Monarchy
in those early days as we see;
With Germans, Hungarians, Romanians, and Slavic
people like the Czechs, Poles, Croats, Slovaks,
Serbs, and the Slovenes!
While the Austrian Officers of this Monarchy spoke
German, the majority of the soldiers were Hungarians,
Czechs, Slovaks, who never spoke German!
So the soldiers were taught 68 single-words of
German commands,
For the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Army to function
collectively as one!
While Francis Joseph their sovereign and emperor,
aspired to become a strong centralized European
power.
But out of the 50 million people of this Monarchy
around 23 million were Slavs,
Who always dreamed of an independent Slavic
Kingdom in the Balkans!

THE BALKANS & THE KINGDOM OF SERBIA
After the Iberian and the Italian peninsulas of
Europe, the BALKAN peninsular is seen to be
lying in Europe’s extreme south east, -
South of the Danube and Sava River, bounded
in the west by the Adriatic and Ionian Sea.
In the east is the Aegean and Black Sea,
With the Mediterranean Sea in the south, -
washing the tip formed by Greece with its many
islands around!
Now much of the Balkan areas were under the
Ottoman Empire since early 14th Century;
And here I cut across many centuries of past
European History!
Following a series of revolutions since 1804
against the Turks,
The Principality of Serbia was carved out in the
area of the Balkans!
A new constitution in 1869 defined it as an
independent State of Serbia;
Was internationally recognized at the Treaty
of Berlin in 1878, to later become the Kingdom
of Serbia!
This kingdom was located south adjoining the
Monarchy of Austro-Hungarians, much to their
annoyance those days,
Since the Kingdom of Serbia was looked upon
as a ‘beacon of liberty’ by the Southern Slavic
race!

THE BOSNIAN CRISIS (1908-1909)  
This dual provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina
in the Balkans,
Were formally under the control of the
Ottoman Sultan.
With permission of the Congress of Berlin in
1878, it was administered by Austria-Hungary;
Though the legal rights remained with Turkey!
But the Slavic population present there had
Nationalistic ambitions,
Aspired to join the Slavs in nearby Kingdom of
Serbia, to form a pan-Slavic nation!
The Slavic population in Austria-Hungary, also
entertained such dreams wistfully!
Now in 1908 a ‘Young Turk Movement’ based
at Macedonia,
Had planned to replace the absolute Turkish
rule in Bosnia!
And by modernizing the Constitution hoped
to rejuvenate the sick Ottoman Empire.
These developments set alarm bells ringing
in Austrian capital Vienna!
So on the 6th of October 1908 they quickly
annexed Bosnia and Herzegovina!
After having lost a war with Japan, and following
an internal Revolution of 1905 the Russians,
Prevented an escalation by staying out of the
Bosnian Crisis!
But the annexation of Bosnia had angered the
Serbs greatly,
So they started to train secret terrorist groups to
liberate Bosnia from Austria-Hungary!
These terrorist groups operated in small cells,
Under the leadership of Col. Dimitrijevic, also
known as the ‘Apis’ those days.
Now, a secret cell called the ‘Black Hand’ operated
in the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo with Gavrilo
Princep as one of its members;
Who was trained and equipped in Serbia along
with other ‘Black Hand’ members.
The Austro-Hungarian Monarchy had remained
distressed about these subversive activities by
the Slavic race!
So in Jan 1909 they obtained the unconditional
support from Germany, in the event of a war
with Serbia even if Austria was the aggressor!
And also secretly hoped in a war to annex
Serbian territory!
For in the two Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913,
Serbia had greatly extended its territory to
become a powerful adversary!
Serbia had also obtained an assurance from
its protector Russia, should a war break out with
Austria!
Now, as tension mounted upsetting the delicate
balance of power in the Balkans gradually,
Archduke Franz Ferdinand with his wife Sophie,
planned to visit Sarajevo from Austria-Hungary!
It was a God sent moment for the secret
organization the ‘Black Hand’,
To plan the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand!

THE ASSASSINATION: SARAJEVO 28TH JUNE 1914
Now when I look back in time I pause to wonder,
How such an amateurish assassination plot could
have ever succeeded,
Without the cruel hands of destiny and fate!
The 28th of June was a bright summer’s St. Vitus
Day and a holiday in Serbia;
And also the 14th marriage anniversary of Franz
Fernandez and his wife Sophia!
Several assassins were positioned along the route,
Which was to be taken by the Archduke!
While the motorcade proceeded to the Town Hall
a bomb was thrown,
Which bounced off the rear of Archduke’s car,
Injuring few bystanders and a passenger in the
rear car!
The Archduke however refused to cancel his trip,
Saying that it was the act of some lunatic!
After completion of the Town Hall ceremony, the
Archduke wanted a change of plan deviating from
the laid down route;
By wanting to visit the patients in the hospital,
Injured by the bomb which had struck his cars
rear hood!
But the Czech driver was not briefed and took
a wrong turn by mistake;
Reversed trying to correct himself, stalled the car
stoppling next to Gavrilo Princep!
Presenting Princep with a stationary target, a
cruel work of destiny and fate!
Prince pulled out his pistol and fired two shots  
at a point blank range, killing both Ferdinand
and  wife Sophie;
When Ferdinand cried out ‘’Sophie, Sophie,
don’t die, live for the children’’, - words which
now remain enshrined in History!

TRIAL OF PRINCEP & THE CONSPIRATORS
The trial began in a military court on 12th of
October at Sarajevo,
With three judges and no jury, when Princep
pleaded 'Not Guilty'!
Killing of Duchess Sophie was an unplanned
accident,
Since he wanted to **** the Governor instead!
He claimed to be a Serbian nationalist working
for the unification of the Slavic race,
and detested the annexation of Bosnia by the
Austo-Hungarians!
Along with 15 other accused, Princep was found
guilty of high treason;
But being underage, was sentenced to 20 years
labour in prison.
But died three year's later from tuberculosis!

           CONCLUDING PART ONE
  ''Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
   There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
   But dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold."
      -Rupert Brook, part of the British Naval Expeditionary
       Force, buried in Skyros, Greece 1914.
Now, looking back over a hundred years in
hindsight I do realize,
That this assassination was not the immediate
cause or the spark which triggered this War,
But only an excuse and a pretext for the
Austro-Hungarians to carve up Serbia,
And distribute those territories between
Allies and friends of Austria;
Also enhance the prestige of their Empire!
Since the war had commenced almost two
months after the Archduke’s assassination,
Austria had lost the high moral ground for
vengeance with righteous indignation!
It was a cynical and a predetermined plan
of Austria in connivance with Germany,
To destroy Serbia and squash the hopes of
Slavic people for a pan-Slavic State, - as we
now get to see!
This war ended with the dissolution of four old
Empires of the Austro-Hungarians, Ottomans,
Tsarist Russians, and the Germans!
While new nations of Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia,
Austria, and Hungary, got created from the
dissolved Empire of Austria-Hungary.
Russia gave up lands creating Finland, Estonia,
Latvia, and Lithuania.
The Ottomans gave up lands in SW Asia and the
Middle East, and in Europe retained only Turkey!
Thus this Great War had creating new nation states,
And gave Europe its new revamped face!
Composed by Raj Nandy of New Delhi,
Thanks for reading patiently!
   TO BE CONTINUED LATER AS PART TWO
**ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR

Uninvited Guest* Annexed

We are seated on opposite sides of ottoman,
Brother and sister,
long history of knowledge tenderness contention attachment,
sharing glances psychological plotting.
The uninvited guest plops down between us
large foreign hand touches both our thighs
We look beyond to each other
The intruder senses our bond

knows where we belong
but must go separately
Far away from the other
Curled fingers tell us we are
Strangers on infinite journey
And all we know is nothing
The air turns chilly

I am fraught with fear
My sister is the braver one
She makes a move to stand
The uninvited guest breathes deeper
Weight she cannot oppose
Our eyes search frantically for each other
But it is too late

* http://oursalon.ning.com/profiles/blogs/the-uninvited-guest

As one who in his journey bates at noon,
Though bent on speed; so here the Arch-Angel paused
Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored,
If Adam aught perhaps might interpose;
Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes.
Thus thou hast seen one world begin, and end;
And Man, as from a second stock, proceed.
Much thou hast yet to see; but I perceive
Thy mortal sight to fail; objects divine
Must needs impair and weary human sense:
Henceforth what is to come I will relate;
Thou therefore give due audience, and attend.
This second source of Men, while yet but few,
And while the dread of judgement past remains
Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity,
With some regard to what is just and right
Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace;
Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop,
Corn, wine, and oil; and, from the herd or flock,
Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid,
With large wine-offerings poured, and sacred feast,
Shall spend their days in joy unblamed; and dwell
Long time in peace, by families and tribes,
Under paternal rule: till one shall rise
Of proud ambitious heart; who, not content
With fair equality, fraternal state,
Will arrogate dominion undeserved
Over his brethren, and quite dispossess
Concord and law of nature from the earth;
Hunting (and men not beasts shall be his game)
With war, and hostile snare, such as refuse
Subjection to his empire tyrannous:
A mighty hunter thence he shall be styled
Before the Lord; as in despite of Heaven,
Or from Heaven, claiming second sovranty;
And from rebellion shall derive his name,
Though of rebellion others he accuse.
He with a crew, whom like ambition joins
With him or under him to tyrannize,
Marching from Eden towards the west, shall find
The plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge
Boils out from under ground, the mouth of Hell:
Of brick, and of that stuff, they cast to build
A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven;
And get themselves a name; lest, far dispersed
In foreign lands, their memory be lost;
Regardless whether good or evil fame.
But God, who oft descends to visit men
Unseen, and through their habitations walks
To mark their doings, them beholding soon,
Comes down to see their city, ere the tower
Obstruct Heaven-towers, and in derision sets
Upon their tongues a various spirit, to rase
Quite out their native language; and, instead,
To sow a jangling noise of words unknown:
Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud,
Among the builders; each to other calls
Not understood; till hoarse, and all in rage,
As mocked they storm: great laughter was in Heaven,
And looking down, to see the hubbub strange,
And hear the din:  Thus was the building left
Ridiculous, and the work Confusion named.
Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeased.
O execrable son! so to aspire
Above his brethren; to himself assuming
Authority usurped, from God not given:
He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl,
Dominion absolute; that right we hold
By his donation; but man over men
He made not lord; such title to himself
Reserving, human left from human free.
But this usurper his encroachment proud
Stays not on Man; to God his tower intends
Siege and defiance:  Wretched man!what food
Will he convey up thither, to sustain
Himself and his rash army; where thin air
Above the clouds will pine his entrails gross,
And famish him of breath, if not of bread?
To whom thus Michael.  Justly thou abhorrest
That son, who on the quiet state of men
Such trouble brought, affecting to subdue
Rational liberty; yet know withal,
Since thy original lapse, true liberty
Is lost, which always with right reason dwells
Twinned, and from her hath no dividual being:
Reason in man obscured, or not obeyed,
Immediately inordinate desires,
And upstart passions, catch the government
From reason; and to servitude reduce
Man, till then free.  Therefore, since he permits
Within himself unworthy powers to reign
Over free reason, God, in judgement just,
Subjects him from without to violent lords;
Who oft as undeservedly enthrall
His outward freedom:  Tyranny must be;
Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse.
Yet sometimes nations will decline so low
From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong,
But justice, and some fatal curse annexed,
Deprives them of their outward liberty;
Their inward lost:  Witness the irreverent son
Of him who built the ark; who, for the shame
Done to his father, heard this heavy curse,
Servant of servants, on his vicious race.
Thus will this latter, as the former world,
Still tend from bad to worse; till God at last,
Wearied with their iniquities, withdraw
His presence from among them, and avert
His holy eyes; resolving from thenceforth
To leave them to their own polluted ways;
And one peculiar nation to select
From all the rest, of whom to be invoked,
A nation from one faithful man to spring:
Him on this side Euphrates yet residing,
Bred up in idol-worship:  O, that men
(Canst thou believe?) should be so stupid grown,
While yet the patriarch lived, who ’scaped the flood,
As to forsake the living God, and fall
To worship their own work in wood and stone
For Gods!  Yet him God the Most High vouchsafes
To call by vision, from his father’s house,
His kindred, and false Gods, into a land
Which he will show him; and from him will raise
A mighty nation; and upon him shower
His benediction so, that in his seed
All nations shall be blest: he straight obeys;
Not knowing to what land, yet firm believes:
I see him, but thou canst not, with what faith
He leaves his Gods, his friends, and native soil,
Ur of Chaldaea, passing now the ford
To Haran; after him a cumbrous train
Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude;
Not wandering poor, but trusting all his wealth
With God, who called him, in a land unknown.
Canaan he now attains; I see his tents
Pitched about Sechem, and the neighbouring plain
Of Moreh; there by promise he receives
Gift to his progeny of all that land,
From Hameth northward to the Desart south;
(Things by their names I call, though yet unnamed;)
From Hermon east to the great western Sea;
Mount Hermon, yonder sea; each place behold
In prospect, as I point them; on the shore
Mount Carmel; here, the double-founted stream,
Jordan, true limit eastward; but his sons
Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills.
This ponder, that all nations of the earth
Shall in his seed be blessed:  By that seed
Is meant thy great Deliverer, who shall bruise
The Serpent’s head; whereof to thee anon
Plainlier shall be revealed.  This patriarch blest,
Whom faithful Abraham due time shall call,
A son, and of his son a grand-child, leaves;
Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown:
The grandchild, with twelve sons increased, departs
From Canaan to a land hereafter called
Egypt, divided by the river Nile
See where it flows, disgorging at seven mouths
Into the sea. To sojourn in that land
He comes, invited by a younger son
In time of dearth, a son whose worthy deeds
Raise him to be the second in that realm
Of Pharaoh. There he dies, and leaves his race
Growing into a nation, and now grown
Suspected to a sequent king, who seeks
To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests
Too numerous; whence of guests he makes them slaves
Inhospitably, and kills their infant males:
Till by two brethren (these two brethren call
Moses and Aaron) sent from God to claim
His people from enthralment, they return,
With glory and spoil, back to their promised land.
But first, the lawless tyrant, who denies
To know their God, or message to regard,
Must be compelled by signs and judgements dire;
To blood unshed the rivers must be turned;
Frogs, lice, and flies, must all his palace fill
With loathed intrusion, and fill all the land;
His cattle must of rot and murren die;
Botches and blains must all his flesh emboss,
And all his people; thunder mixed with hail,
Hail mixed with fire, must rend the Egyptians sky,
And wheel on the earth, devouring where it rolls;
What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain,
A darksome cloud of locusts swarming down
Must eat, and on the ground leave nothing green;
Darkness must overshadow all his bounds,
Palpable darkness, and blot out three days;
Last, with one midnight stroke, all the first-born
Of Egypt must lie dead.  Thus with ten wounds
The river-dragon tamed at length submits
To let his sojourners depart, and oft
Humbles his stubborn heart; but still, as ice
More hardened after thaw; till, in his rage
Pursuing whom he late dismissed, the sea
Swallows him with his host; but them lets pass,
As on dry land, between two crystal walls;
Awed by the rod of Moses so to stand
Divided, till his rescued gain their shore:
Such wondrous power God to his saint will lend,
Though present in his Angel; who shall go
Before them in a cloud, and pillar of fire;
By day a cloud, by night a pillar of fire;
To guide them in their journey, and remove
Behind them, while the obdurate king pursues:
All night he will pursue; but his approach
Darkness defends between till morning watch;
Then through the fiery pillar, and the cloud,
God looking forth will trouble all his host,
And craze their chariot-wheels: when by command
Moses once more his potent rod extends
Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys;
On their embattled ranks the waves return,
And overwhelm their war:  The race elect
Safe toward Canaan from the shore advance
Through the wild Desart, not the readiest way;
Lest, entering on the Canaanite alarmed,
War terrify them inexpert, and fear
Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather
Inglorious life with servitude; for life
To noble and ignoble is more sweet
Untrained in arms, where rashness leads not on.
This also shall they gain by their delay
In the wide wilderness; there they shall found
Their government, and their great senate choose
Through the twelve tribes, to rule by laws ordained:
God from the mount of Sinai, whose gray top
Shall tremble, he descending, will himself
In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpets’ sound,
Ordain them laws; part, such as appertain
To civil justice; part, religious rites
Of sacrifice; informing them, by types
And shadows, of that destined Seed to bruise
The Serpent, by what means he shall achieve
Mankind’s deliverance.  But the voice of God
To mortal ear is dreadful:  They beseech
That Moses might report to them his will,
And terrour cease; he grants what they besought,
Instructed that to God is no access
Without Mediator, whose high office now
Moses in figure bears; to introduce
One greater, of whose day he shall foretel,
And all the Prophets in their age the times
Of great Messiah shall sing.  Thus, laws and rites
Established, such delight hath God in Men
Obedient to his will, that he vouchsafes
Among them to set up his tabernacle;
The Holy One with mortal Men to dwell:
By his prescript a sanctuary is framed
Of cedar, overlaid with gold; therein
An ark, and in the ark his testimony,
The records of his covenant; over these
A mercy-seat of gold, between the wings
Of two bright Cherubim; before him burn
Seven lamps as in a zodiack representing
The heavenly fires; over the tent a cloud
Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night;
Save when they journey, and at length they come,
Conducted by his Angel, to the land
Promised to Abraham and his seed:—The rest
Were long to tell; how many battles fought
How many kings destroyed; and kingdoms won;
Or how the sun shall in mid Heaven stand still
A day entire, and night’s due course adjourn,
Man’s voice commanding, ‘Sun, in Gibeon stand,
‘And thou moon in the vale of Aialon,
’Till Israel overcome! so call the third
From Abraham, son of Isaac; and from him
His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win.
Here Adam interposed.  O sent from Heaven,
Enlightener of my darkness, gracious things
Thou hast revealed; those chiefly, which concern
Just Abraham and his seed: now first I find
Mine eyes true-opening, and my heart much eased;
Erewhile perplexed with thoughts, what would become
Of me and all mankind:  But now I see
His day, in whom all nations shall be blest;
Favour unmerited by me, who sought
Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means.
This yet I apprehend not, why to those
Among whom God will deign to dwell on earth
So many and so various laws are given;
So many laws argue so many sins
Among them; how can God with such reside?
To whom thus Michael.  Doubt not but that sin
Will reign among them, as of thee begot;
And therefore was law given them, to evince
Their natural pravity, by stirring up
Sin against law to fight: that when they see
Law can discover sin, but not remove,
Save by those shadowy expiations weak,
The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude
Some blood more precious must be paid for Man;
Just for unjust; that, in such righteousness
To them by faith imputed, they may find
Justification towards God, and peace
Of conscience; which the law by ceremonies
Cannot appease; nor Man the mortal part
Perform; and, not performing, cannot live.
So law appears imperfect; and but given
With purpose to resign them, in full time,
Up to a better covenant; disciplined
From shadowy types to truth; from flesh to spirit;
From imposition of strict laws to free
Acceptance of large grace; from servile fear
To filial; works of law to works of faith.
And therefore shall not Moses, though of God
Highly beloved, being but the minister
Of law, his people into Canaan lead;
But Joshua, whom the Gentiles Jesus call,
His name and office bearing, who shall quell
The adversary-Serpent, and bring back
Through the world’s wilderness long-wandered Man
Safe to eternal Paradise of rest.
Mean while they, in their earthly Canaan placed,
Long time shall dwell and prosper, but when sins
National interrupt their publick peace,
Provoking God to raise them enemies;
From whom as oft he saves them penitent
By Judges first, then under Kings; of whom
The second, both for piety renowned
And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive
Irrevocable, that his regal throne
For ever shall endure; the like shall sing
All Prophecy, that of the royal stock
Of David (so I name this king) shall rise
A Son, the Woman’s seed to thee foretold,
Foretold to Abraham, as in whom shall trust
All nations; and to kings foretold, of kings
The last; for of his reign shall be no end.
But first, a long succession must ensue;
And his next son, for wealth and wisdom famed,
The clouded ark of God, till then in tents
Wandering, shall in a glorious temple enshrine.
Such follow him, as shall be registered
Part good, part bad; of bad the longer scroll;
Whose foul idolatries, and other faults
Heaped to the popular sum, will so incense
God, as to leave them, and expose their land,
Their city, his temple, and his holy ark,
With all his sacred things, a scorn and prey
To that proud city, whose high walls thou sawest
Left in confusion; Babylon thence called.
There in captivity he lets them dwell
The space of seventy years; then brings them back,
Remembering mercy, and his covenant sworn
To David, stablished as the days of Heaven.
Returned from Babylon by leave of kings
Their lords, whom God disposed, the house of God
They first re-edify; and for a while
In mean estate live moderate; till, grown
In wealth and multitude, factious they grow;
But first among the priests dissention springs,
Men who attend the altar, and should most
Endeavour peace: their strife pollution brings
Upon the temple itself: at last they seise
The scepter, and regard not David’s sons;
Then lose it to a stranger, that the true
Anointed King Messiah might be born
Barred of his right; yet at his birth a star,
Unseen before in Heaven, proclaims him come;
And guides the eastern sages, who inquire
His place, to offer incense, myrrh, and gold:
His place of birth a solemn Angel tells
To simple shepherds, keeping watch by night;
They gladly thither haste, and by a quire
Of squadroned Angels hear his carol sung.
A ****** is his mother, but his sire
The power of the Most High:  He shall ascend
The throne hereditary, and bound his reign
With Earth’s wide bounds, his glory with the Heavens.
He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy
Surcharged, as had like grief been dewed in tears,
Without the vent of words; which these he breathed.
O prophet of glad tidings, finisher
Of utmost hope! now clear I understand
What oft my steadiest thoughts have searched in vain;
Why o

Lil' Israel, today, scuttled the long struggled for 'Iran ...Deal',
an acheivement of the Obama Presidency, although he failed on his
promises of "...watching the robots..." (20 % of "Bernie Or Bust
'Bots", the "hacker 'bots", and hackers globally, etc., biological
machine parts of 'la machine', mega, mecha, techa vs. orga, soma,
Gaia, which were central to the invisible coup that, with the tug, the
S.S. Tea Party, to the tune of their manifest destiny rag, dragged
'The U.S. Constitution', our Ship of State, into the 'Plymouth Rock'
Of this nation's original sin, imperialism, as they landed on it
while it landed on "...we(e),...", Native Americans, Turtle Island,
derailing democratically directed progress and installing Trumpler in
the klukahouse) and "closing Guantonomo", etc., he kept many, making
him singular amongst the number of the fingers of one hand at the top,
The "Presidents Club".  His legacy includes allowing the intelligence
industrial complex, of the corporate structure's convolution, to
purposely not prevent the hacking of the Presidential Elections of
2016, yet also includes such acheivements as the A.C.A., and the
'Iran ... Deal', it being the best possible foreign policy endeavor
To move forward with Iran.  Yet, Trumpler's feuhrer, Netsenyahoo's,
putting on a show of shiny cd's, old intelligence that didn't even
support his delusional projections, was all the cover 'The Donald'
needed to follow his channeling of his inner-worst yahoo and "scrap",
Racistly, that epitome of foreign policy success, "...because it was
Obama's...", as was Trumpler's campaigning on his desires to
"...update and use nuclear programs and weapons...".  For, it's been
common global foreign affairs knowledge for half a century that any
nuclear war is the extinction of humanity in a can, thus 'containment',
not proliferation', was the eternal order of the day.  So, His Trunc-
ularnesses not understanding why "...a country has weapons if they're  
not going to use them...", was not just a confession of his utter
criminal insanity, it was also one of his intent to break the "Non-State
Agression" part of the Nuremburg Accords that was central to the lessons
learned from WWII, like if you're not taking bullets you're making them,
By globally selling not just unending war, but nuclear ones, discarding
containment for proliferation, 'cause war pays extremely more than peace.  
What do you get when you mix imperialism, materialism, racism, religious
bigotry, patriarchy, oligarchy, notsee Germany before it annexed Austria.
Trumpenstein, blasting the keinder and gentler imperialism of remocrats,
Is warring on dempublicans, voting, women's rights, healthcare, health,
Et al, exterminating non-rem voters, etc., now he is angling for a Sunni
wished for unending worldwide war on the Shiite, Iran, to be nuclear, ****
all non: US citizens, Caucasians, upper-middle-class to rich, supposed
Christians, as our notsee war machine has ever been oiled by the blood
of, for more (like merx for more thru to mercs for unnecessary unending
worldwide war).  Separating the real religion which all religions,
etc., are a front for, avarice, from the State, as is dictated by our
Constitution, is not only a necessity for "a nation and an individual",
like Gandhi said "abhaya, fearlessness", is, it's now a necessity for
the existence of humanity, neigh, all life and the Earth.  He will end
U.S. if we don't protect the vote, GOTV, vote, and impeach him a.s.a.p..

Trees in groves,
Kine in droves,
In ocean sport the scaly herds,
Wedge-like cleave the air the birds,
To northern lakes fly wind-borne ducks,
Browse the mountain sheep in flocks,
Men consort in camp and town,
But the poet dwells alone.

God who gave to him the lyre,
Of all mortals the desire,
For all breathing men's behoof,
Straitly charged him, "Sit aloof;"
Annexed a warning, poets say,
To the bright premium,—
Ever when twain together play,
Shall the harp be dumb.
Many may come,
But one shall sing;
Two touch the string,
The harp is dumb.
Though there come a million
Wise Saadi dwells alone.

Yet Saadi loved the race of men,—
No churl immured in cave or den,—
In bower and hall
He wants them all,
Nor can dispense
With Persia for his audience;
They must give ear,
Grow red with joy, and white with fear,
Yet he has no companion,
Come ten, or come a million,
Good Saadi dwells alone.

Be thou ware where Saadi dwells.
Gladly round that golden lamp
Sylvan deities encamp,
And simple maids and noble youth
Are welcome to the man of truth.
Most welcome they who need him most,
They feed the spring which they exhaust:
For greater need
Draws better deed:
But, critic, spare thy vanity,
Nor show thy pompous parts,
To vex with odious subtlety
The cheerer of men's hearts.

Sad-eyed Fakirs swiftly say
Endless dirges to decay;
Never in the blaze of light
Lose the shudder of midnight;
And at overflowing noon,
Hear wolves barking at the moon;
In the bower of dalliance sweet
Hear the far Avenger's feet;
And shake before those awful Powers
Who in their pride forgive not ours.
Thus the sad-eyed Fakirs preach;
"Bard, when thee would Allah teach,
And lift thee to his holy mount,
He sends thee from his bitter fount,
Wormwood; saying, Go thy ways,
Drink not the Malaga of praise,
But do the deed thy fellows hate,
And compromise thy peaceful state.
Smite the white ******* which thee fed,
Stuff sharp thorns beneath the head
Of them thou shouldst have comforted.
For out of woe and out of crime
Draws the heart a lore sublime."
And yet it seemeth not to me
That the high gods love tragedy;
For Saadi sat in the sun,
And thanks was his contrition;
For haircloth and for ****** whips,
Had active hands and smiling lips;
And yet his runes he rightly read,
And to his folk his message sped.
Sunshine in his heart transferred
Lighted each transparent word;
And well could honoring Persia learn
What Saadi wished to say;
For Saadi's nightly stars did burn
Brighter than Dschami's day.

Whispered the muse in Saadi's cot;
O gentle Saadi, listen not,
Tempted by thy praise of wit,
Or by thirst and appetite
For the talents not thine own,
To sons of contradiction.
Never, sun of eastern morning,
Follow falsehood, follow scorning,
Denounce who will, who will, deny,
And pile the hills to scale the sky;
Let theist, atheist, pantheist,
Define and wrangle how they list,—
Fierce conserver, fierce destroyer,
But thou joy-giver and enjoyer,
Unknowing war, unknowing crime,
Gentle Saadi, mind thy rhyme.
Heed not what the brawlers say,
Heed thou only Saadi's lay.

Let the great world bustle on
With war and trade, with camp and town.
A thousand men shall dig and eat,
At forge and furnace thousands sweat,
And thousands sail the purple sea,
And give or take the stroke of war,
Or crowd the market and bazaar.
Oft shall war end, and peace return,
And cities rise where cities burn,
Ere one man my hill shall climb,
Who can turn the golden rhyme;
Let them manage how they may,
Heed thou only Saadi's lay.
Seek the living among the dead:
Man in man is imprisoned.
Barefooted Dervish is not poor,
If fate unlock his *****'s door.
So that what his eye hath seen
His tongue can paint, as bright, as keen,
And what his tender heart hath felt,
With equal fire thy heart shall melt.
For, whom the muses shine upon,
And touch with soft persuasion,
His words like a storm-wind can bring
Terror and beauty on their wing;
In his every syllable
Lurketh nature veritable;
And though he speak in midnight dark,
In heaven, no star; on earth, no spark;
Yet before the listener's eye
Swims the world in ecstasy,
The forest waves, the morning breaks,
The pastures sleep, ripple the lakes,
Leaves twinkle, flowers like persons be,
And life pulsates in rock or tree.
Saadi! so far thy words shall reach;
Suns rise and set in Saadi's speech.

And thus to Saadi said the muse;
Eat thou the bread which men refuse;
Flee from the goods which from thee flee;
Seek nothing; Fortune seeketh thee.
Nor mount, nor dive; all good things keep
The midway of the eternal deep;
Wish not to fill the isles with eyes
To fetch thee birds of paradise;
On thine orchard's edge belong
All the brass of plume and song;
Wise Ali's sunbright sayings pass
For proverbs in the market-place;
Through mountains bored by regal art
Toil whistles as he drives his cart.
Nor scour the seas, nor sift mankind,
A poet or a friend to find;
Behold, he watches at the door,
Behold his shadow on the floor.
Open innumerable doors,
The heaven where unveiled Allah pours
The flood of truth, the flood of good,
The seraph's and the cherub's food;
Those doors are men; the pariah kind
Admits thee to the perfect Mind.
Seek not beyond thy cottage wall
Redeemer that can yield thee all.
While thou sittest at thy door,
On the desert's yellow floor,
Listening to the gray-haired crones,
Foolish gossips, ancient drones,—
Saadi, see, they rise in stature
To the height of mighty nature,
And the secret stands revealed
Fraudulent Time in vain concealed,
That blessed gods in servile masks
Plied for thee thy household tasks.

OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
HOW BIG WE'VE SEEN YOU GROWN
YOUR BUILDINGS MADE BY ELLIS-DON
YOUR SKYLINE BY CAMPEAU,
THE MAYOR HAS KEPT EXPANDING
IT' TOO HARD TO BELIEVE
IF LONDON GETS MUCH LARGER THEN,
I KNOW WE'LL HAVE TO LEAVE.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU'VE GROWN UP REALLY FAST
YOU SHOW NO SIGNS OF SLOWING DOWN
HOW LONG WILL THIS ALL LAST ?
YOUR ROADS ARE ALWAYS RIPPED UP
IT'S REALLY SAD TO SEE
TO FIND THE ROUTE THAT LEADS TO WORK
WE CALL THE P.U.C.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
WE DON'T KNOW YOU NO MORE
YOU'VE GROWN SO BIG WE DON'T KNOW HOW
TO FIND THE CORNER STORE
WE THING YOUR PARKS ARE LOVELY
THE BEST WE'VE EVER SEEN
THE ONLY PROBLEM THAT WE SEE
IS THAT THEY'RE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU'RE NOT MANAGED TOO WELL
'CAUSE EVERYTIME IT SEEMS TO SNOW
YOUR BUDGET'S SHOT TO HELL
YOU NEVER HAVE THE MONEY
TO KEEP THE STREETS SO CLEAR
YOU'RE BUSIER AT LABATT'S PARK
DECIDING TO SELL BEER.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
WE KNOW YOU MUST EXPAND
THE PROBLEM THAT WE HAVE WITH THIS
WE'RE LOSING OUR FARM LAND
TO SHOW THE KIDDIES CATTLE
WE TAKE THEM TO THE ZOO
AND WHEN OUR KIDS ASKE WHY THEY'RE HERE
THEY MOVE WHEN LONDON GREW.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU'VE ******* UP ONCE AGAIN
YOUR FOOTBALL FIELD HAS GOT NO LIGHTS
AND THAT'S TICKED OF TSN
IN ORDER TO PLAY NIGHT GAMES
YOU HAVE TO SPEND A LOAD
OF OUR FIRST FIFTEEN GAMES AT HOME
WE PLAYED SIX ON THE ROAD.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU'TRE PEPPERED WITH STRIP MALLS
WE'VE MORE OF THESE IN THIS FAIR TOWN
THAN SPALDING HAS BASEBALLS
INSTEAD OF SPENDING MONEY
ON PLAZAS SUCH AS THESE
WHEY DON'T YOU HELP THE HOMELESS
SO THESE POOR FOLKS DON'T FREEZE
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
GETS BIGGER EVERY DAY
THE PROBLEM THAT I HAVE WITH THIS
IS WE'RE THE ONE'S WHO PAY
EACH TIME A NEW FIRM COMES HERE
I FEEL WE'RE GETTING HOSED
FOR EVERY ONE THAT COMES TO TOWN
THERE TWO MORE THAT HAVE CLOSED
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU MUST THINK I'M A FOOL
YOU WANT TO RAISE MY TAXES UP
TO PAY FOR YOUR NEW POOL
AN AQUATIC CENTER
IS SURE A GOOD IDEA
TOO BAD THE **** THING COSTS SO MUCH
SO, WE DON'T NEED IT HERE
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
IT CHANGES BY THE DAY
YOU'VE ANNEXED UP WESTMINISTER
AND WE'RE THE ONE'S WHO PAY
YOU DO NOT WANT TO HIT THEM
WITH TAX HIKES REALLY QUICK
SO WE MAKE UP THE DEFECIT
IT REALLY MAKES ME SICK
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
WITH WHITE ELEPHANTS GALORE
YOUR CONVENTION CENTRE'S LOSING BUCKS
THIS CAN'T GO ON NO MORE
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEARNED YOUR LESSON
BESIDE CENTENNIAL HALL
YOU'VE GOT AN EMPLY PLAZA THERE
NOW YOU'VE AN EMPTY MALL
OUT LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
IS REALLY LIKE T.O
IT'S NOT AS LARGE IN SIZE JUST YET
BUT, GIVE IT TIME TO GROW
THE DOWNTOWN IS MORE DANGEROUS
WITH FOLKS SCARED FOR THEIR LIVES
JUST TELL ME NOW WHERE DO THESE KIDS
GET ALL THESE GUNS AND KNIVES?
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
PLEASE THINK ON THIS REAL WELL
'CAUSE IF WE STAY ON THIS SAME COURSE
WE'RE HEADING STRAIGHT TO HELL
YOU'RE ALWAYS TRYING NEW THINGS
THAT TURN IN TO A JOKE
REMBEMBER THIS NEXT TIME YOU TRY
DON'T FIX WHAT ISN'T BROKE!
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
TWENTY YEARS HAVE PASSED
SINCE I FIRST WROTE THIS EPIC POEM
NOW THIS VERSE IS THE LAST
REGARDLESS WHERE I TRAVEL
NO MATTER WHERE I ROAM
I'LL THINK OF LITTLE LONDON TOWN
THE PLACE IT IS MY HOME.

And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee!
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not—and pain and sorrow here.
And is it thus?—it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold,
While heaviness collects the shattered spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.

I am too well avenged!—but ’twas my right;
Whate’er my sins might be, thou wert not sent
To be the Nemesis who should requite—
Nor did heaven choose so near an instrument.
Mercy is for the merciful!—if thou
Hast been of such, ’twill be accorded now.
Thy nights are banished from the realms of sleep!—
Yes! they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel
A hollow agony which will not heal,
For thou art pillowed on a curse too deep;
Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap
The bitter harvest in a woe as real!
I have had many foes, but none like thee;
For ‘gainst the rest myself I could defend,
And be avenged, or turn them into friend;
But thou in safe implacability
Hadst nought to dread—in thy own weakness shielded,
And in my love which hath but too much yielded,
And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare—
And thus upon the world—trust in thy truth—
And the wild fame of my ungoverned youth—
On things that were not, and on things that are—
Even upon such a basis hast thou built
A monument whose cement hath been guilt!
The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord,
And hewed down, with an unsuspected sword,
Fame, peace, and hope—and all the better life
Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart,
Might still have risen from out the grave of strife,
And found a nobler duty than to part.
But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice,
Trafficking with them in a purpose cold,
For present anger, and for future gold—
And buying other’s grief at any price.
And thus once entered into crooked ways,
The early truth, which was thy proper praise,
Did not still walk beside thee—but at times,
And with a breast unknowing its own crimes,
Deceit, averments incompatible,
Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell
In Janus-spirits—the significant eye
Which learns to lie with silence—the pretext
Of Prudence, with advantages annexed—
The acquiescence in all things which tend,
No matter how, to the desired end—
All found a place in thy philosophy.
The means were worthy, and the end is won—
I would not do by thee as thou hast done!

Marielle indicates: “Your luminosity, Copernicus vibrating in Giordano Bruno, expresses hypotheses that they revive to Quentinnais from the third hour, from here now I am hospitalized and without light to line the end where I will put my feet evasive. Raymond Bragasse is here where I met him, and I saw him with his holy rosary on his necklace, and on Andrés Panguiette's claw. That you grumble, they excommunicate my sentences, which are that of the rooster that becomes gentle in a Corso, Sardinian or Roman Praetorian, in the leap I relegate to San Gabriel, with its magical art that excites the retentiveness of Saint George. Under what science do they moderate me by joining you, or what century will intuit us with its own splendor, whose obscurantism under his revolution mutes anyone in the darkness of the cave of Dionysius. The divinity postpones itself, to leave its daily chores where souls fly daily ..., they do not stop leaving with their spoils after the fairies that fly to purgatory. But many have passed over me, and I was wondering where to find you, I never thought that I should fly over a swarm of wasps to reach your divine lair, full of regulatory darkness for those who live against the light, and of an Elizabethan garment that dismisses my ring, where Its natural original magic is isolated from our semi-alive body, with brittle Egyptian suns that redoubled where I had to wait for you at the Pentecost bench. What retarding essence dries up who does not show any vital or symbolic avital sign, where the rough cyclicality does not allow me to chastise my hair in any vanity for you. Oh that Moral spellings referring to my commendation, if it is not apostasy! What else would I dare to speak, through the sky flying away from the lunar books of Vivencia, where it is sent from its orbit towards the cosmos free of all and of all with Wonthelimar free of me, confined of Marielle. I know that I am analogous **** of the Libri Dei Viventi, perhaps sackcloths or coats have to be spun in Parnassus, to gird myself to myself, and not Marielle cloistered in her solitude, who does not receive the Vivendi torpor of her paradisiac sacrilege when seducing a supposed daughter of Hecate, fortunately, I have to guess with a swarm, and stay in the nets of your cave. With the stanza that is invested in rhetorical values, I go crazy for love to which I am conjured, but from Marielle now or in hundreds of years that pester on my sackcloth, which will never be used for the liturgy with you, if I revive in the crisis of resurrection in the arms of Saint George in the stained glass window in Avignon, and in his forearm that passes through the worst emotional crypts of my author.

As I have to contest hostile votes that are netted in the puritanism of those who only wear sackcloth in the unstitched Mausoleums of Quentinnais, and in the strident leaves that move elected in his advent, where the subclavian of Luzbel stands. Unanimous I have to dare by asininity ...! Moderating threads of horror and silver light, which revives us in the beasts and in their perches, ad libitum in the lattices where it emerges from the conspiracy of our tragedy. Oh, what an impetuous incarnation of the anti-Christian verb has to express itself in your incarnations of light and restless shadow, in the apse of the discanted in Avignon, and in the acroteria shadow, suffering from cowardice by not wanting to see me angelic, universal predisposition, just to know fit and what to say with your soul lineage and twin life, who only knows how to love you. Our reincarnations are rescued, now that we go to Patmos intimidated, in the sound of shining the veiled Vernarth, reprimanded in his acquiescent morality under his own law and his glasses, born from his rib that ends in the exception of a foul dialogue. It is premature for me to say what I do not have to write, but the particles slowly fall through the beam of their adjective essences, reshaping exterminated historiographies that want to make green, in colloquia that draw the eyes of whoever wants to blind the profane cult, absorbed in sallow particles in four sciences and elements… What unresolved probe and mass can strike your heart poured into you Wonthelimar? You know when we get to Profitis I will go holding your hand in the morning, to adore you and kneel down, we will deal with why we lost ourselves, and why the sun has not stained me with so much fury, carrying me burned in tongues of its consumptive and guttural infinity. After taking the hand of dawn, I will sue the impossible quagmire and its Áullos Kósmos, weakened by theoretical openness, lacking unity, but not far from my vanistory, nor from the sessile fluff of my hair, waiting for you with your stormy return to hold me. Ayia Lavra will declare war on the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, with solidity and sanctity that frees my chains in a single trident, paling in the rust of it, methodological treatise, and where the determination of veracity is annihilated.

Because I have to go to heaven when I want to offer myself to you, without any century that has received me with fewer wounds than those I had yesterday in its indolent septicemia, with miracles and incense burners that burn in imprecate, and provide a pagan theology of human filth. , not portraying biblical when your plurality dressed as a secular thirteenth, by referrals or Greco-Gallic that arise from the love that has no end or beginning in the autonomy of an incorruptible being, and even less when you wear sweets in its lavender lex. Genius Loci, or amplified reality, rather your idea of sticking with me when I have not been, and of attracting me when the future in the portal is made in the perfect symmetry of him, or whoever looms excited in his cabal. The body is no longer inscrutable, overworking with poetry to constrict my torn voice, running at great speed to seize the cosmetic that paints our faces, Selene and her luster aggravate punctuality and the status of science in creation. I have read volume VIII, and I saw that tears flowed by where I never thought ... !, for exchanges that marginalize an established authority, nor with more childish will I undone the garments of his self-description. Mime or jester in front of me in my catalog of the tragic actress with the anemic volume of her, pointing out uprisings in new waves, on seas that did not have them ..., loaded in new skeptical allegorical clouds, on truths that were already understood in the jealous name. It is incumbent on us to navigate with lamps that have to guide us through dark Ptolemaic hexahedra or henbane crusts, which do not manage to go over the sentry boxes of a divine gesture. How to dare to a final gesture of inflaming with you in factions and premises beyond an apocalypse, or of a Penelope that is gestated in a god, or becomes unknowable of a prevailing divine plan.

Charged with our dissidence, we will go far from the unknown burdens, that scripts are annexed in the new birth of our fiefdom and in their great expectation. Now four elytra have been born on my back, who hope to reveal to you the categories of the deleterious vanquished, reduced to only two Ptolemic emetics ..., you and I in a final judgment, which we already know well about, about the seventh eras that await us in the Southern Sporades, and in his final judgment in the eighth. O Jerusalem, I deprive my oldest sin by conceiving, but rather by confessing it with you. What insurgent dualism will make me get rid of myself and be reborn indestructible in its dizzying relish where the multi-chained temptation of redemption runs towards you? Wonthelimar…, I'm here, in this thunder slip writing for you. I have distanced my head united to yours so that it is not destroyed, for all thoughts, where although you are my diluted kingdom, I will beg You to leave me in the growing vertical anticipated flight from my body, but later in my consciousness which is what which will pre-exist with his Roman staff intertwining with his lusters, and in the syntagmas of Vernarth, which come from the Sporades of Patmos. As I honor and glorify Him in the southern part of him, my dear sackcloth has warmed away from my myopic eyes, already feeling your face breath on me, I will be able to vindicate narrated stories after we part before God!

There's the one who back stabbed
To get who she wanted
There's the one who annexed herself
For a boy
There's the one who settled
Because she was lonely
There's the one who stayed alone
Because the right one hasn't found her
...
Or is it she's too picky?
...
Or she's undesirable?
...
To be honest I don't really know
I mean she won't back stab, be annexed or settle
She doesn't have the heart
Or lack there of
The rest seem happy with who they're with
No matter the way they got them
She seems happy will being alone
But sad only in the face of their happiness
She remains unsure
Mirror mirror on the wall
Who's the worst of them all?
The one who back stabbed
The one who was annexed
The one who settled
The one who is unsure

As the world stands now,
Full of not what we need
Than what we need most,

Full of terrorist Arabs,
Perpetrating punctured civilization,
Of senseless Islam,
In the arsenal  state of ISIS,
Foolishly in ghastly infringement
Of the voiceless poor folks
With their solid foolery
They call the Islamic state,

At a time we need scientists,
In Einstein’s mental stature,
To open the microbes
And hopefully decimate,
Their germ of Ebola,
And her ancestors;
Aids and scrotal Cancer,

Arabs are all over Africa,
Preaching their chauvinism,
Which they call Islam, mental mire in extreme,
They grabbed and annexed North Africa,
They gave it Arabic name; The Maghreb,
Now the fountain of terrorism
And tomfoolery of religion
Devoid in dual logic
Of reason and humanity,
Converting Somali in to beehive,
Of al shabab and Al gaeda drones,
Killing the poor people,
For no reason nor emotion,

We need more Jews than Arabs in the Maghreb,
To convert Mauritania into New York,
And Somali into Moscow,
Egypt into Germany,
Tunisia into France
And Libya into Chicago,
For Africa needs Technology
And property for its people,
But not the religious sludge
In the likes of Islam, Buddhism and Christo-mania,

The world needs more Jews than Arabs,
For the sake of science,
Geo-space adventure,
Viable ideologies,
Like Marxism, reverse capitalism,
Bill Gatism and all of these stuff,
But not funny pieties of the Turban,
From peasants like Al Amin Mohammed,
The **** of Mecca before Adrenalin for Hajira,

Arabs better walk backwards,
To the days before in the antiques,
And revive Al Jebra, the glory of their past,
Make dhows and sail the world,
With Rubiyats of Omar Al Khayyam,
In their hands, burying their beards,
In the rubiyat of the wine and the ******,

The world needs more Greeks than English men,
For sake of succor from vacuum of logic,
We wallow in today,
To relish Aristotle, Plato and Socrates,
Homer and Hesiod,
For more Iliad and Odyssey,
Apology and Crito, Phaeto,
Alexander and Archimedes,
But not colonialism mongering
****** English men,
With no culture to sell,
Other than colonialism,
Infallibility of the queen,
Shakespeare’s fear of ***,
And Churchill’s mental deficiency,

We need more Russians than white Americans,
To entertain and astound the world,
With uniqueness of confidence,
And charm of moon visiting science,
With literary spark in the size of Leo Tolstoy,
Maxim Gorgi and Nikolai Gogol,
With the sweetness of cloaked dead souls,
To stune the world with political shrewdness,
In the fathom of Vladimir Putin,
Pricking capitalism from diurnal somnambulism,
We need more Germans than Italians,
For the sake of sense of reason
Positive aggressiveness,
Stern thought pattern,
Feasible ideology,
And systematic prudence,

We need more black Africans than Indians,
To carry forward the battle of civil rights,
Sports culture and heavyweight boxing,
To sire tough sires,
That can survive climate change,
But not Indians,
Opening shops all over,
Falling in love with corrupt powers,
For filthy sake of merchandizing freedom,

Wee need more Jews than Arabs,
To counter the spiral forces,
Of Chinese capitalism,
Caterwauling the world,
Into crazy whirlpool,
Of yellow civilization,
Making it thus fit,
To stop at stark truth,
That a dead Arab terrorist,
Is better than thoughts of democracy.

The forward violet thus did I chide:
“Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love’s breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft check for complexion dwells
In my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed.”
The lily I condemnèd for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair;
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red, nor white, had stol’n of both,
And to his robbery had annexed thy breath,
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
    More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
    But sweet or colour it had stol’n from thee.

(Erica went into her room to rest. Geraldine and Carla started to read the journal they had found in the box.)


He left England with a ship and sailed east until he reached
Portugal; then, he took a stagecoach and traveled to Venice.
He was in danger of highwaymen who couldn't be impeached.
His coach had a high speed, ‘cause those men could become a menace.


He had made a gold deposit at a goldsmith, who gave him
Some receipts to exchange them with money at the British bank.
Then, he traveled through Europe choosing those pathways which were dim.
There, he missed London and its air being restless and dank.



He achieved knowledge of the Europe major languages.
He was seemingly traveling at his own expense,
Covered, by his own account; in fact, he carried messages,
And any of his messages had an important sense.


He traveled as merchant bringing drugs, rare books, and some
Exotic commodities like pine nuts, pistachios, and coffee
From the Royal Exchange instead of waiting a false peace to come.
In London, his luxury shops looked like covered in toffee.



(In her room, Erica started to read the document written in the Russian language. It was one of the most fragrant, pleasant smell papers she ever had in her hands. The person owning that document was a Russian one living in London.)



This document was also a letter from the Surveyor
Of the Royal Exchange, to an Indian official asking
Him help to buy some new shops in India; the payer
Could reveal the understanding of the retail shopping.



(Geraldine continued to read from his journal written in the Russian language.)



The man described the luxury life of the British elite,
His grand house, which had been built in the rich west of London,
And his horse-drawn carriage used for rides on the main street.
He wanted lead pipes for his house as any rich Londoner.


(Erica continued to read the document.)



That paper had an annexed one about the gold needed
To help a noble lady forced to spend the rest of her life
As a penniless nun; her words about freedom were heeded.
Imprisoned as a nun, she was, in fact, an abandoned wife.




The gold was brought with a ship that should anchor in that place.
Ivan was the liaison with that man and had to take that gold
To pay the lady's freedom; tears appeared upon Erica’s face.
Ivan caused the deviation from the ship's course as he was told.




He didn't know that the carrack had been hunted by some pirates.
Erica realized that the merchant had died, but she
Did not know whether the gold had been stolen or not, those bandits
Were still around having the link letter; she fell down on her knees


To pray for her life; she understood that the ex-husband
Of that lady could torture them to death for having plotted
Against him; she prayed while needing to be many thousand
Miles away and while looking at the hill with olives dotted.



(Erica burned the document.)
(Geraldine became meditative and told Carla,)



''These treatises generate some ideas of magnificence
And splendor; the luxury is realized with the skilled
Workers and the specialized knowledge, '' ‘‘the extravagance
Of these books is declined by the wars, where the life is killed, ''



(Replied Carla. She continued,)



'' These wars bring the decline of retailing, the stagnation
Of building, and the disappearance of a real
Art market, '' ''They use all the methods to fight for their nation
On the waters to protect the land; their strife is a squeal, ''



(Replied Geraldine. Maya entered the room to invite them to dinner. She said that she had seen someone having two dogs and walking around. Suddenly, Geraldine said, ‘’ I think I give birth to my child now. I have a sharp pain. I’m so afraid! ’’)


(..To be continued.)

Poem by Marieta Maglas)

I am socially dislocated
My heart is devastated
Annexed from humanity
My mind is iridescent
Closing off my heart
And opening up my mind
To a new time,
That you’re no longer mine

Every being that lapses before you

Is but a mere fluorescence

Illuminating your flaws

Elementary constellations

A façade of what you’ve become

Every strand of organic texture

Ejecting slivers of your identity



Every surface, every footprint

Annexed imagery

They are all reincarnations

Of past, present, and future mistakes


We are all scientists and teachers

Creators and explorers

Living within equations

Striving endlessly for solutions

When the solution lies before us

Viva La Imagism!

At Austerlitz I two nations vanquished;
making me historically distinguished.
At Marengo I had Austria subdued;
then I was to honour undoubtedly glued.
At the Pyramids, Mamluks kissed the sands;
then like a French Pharaoh I annexed their lands.
At Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to her knees fell,
to avoid carnage, and possibly hell.
At Borodino, Kutuzov my boots licked,
as his Russian forces had their arses kicked.
At Ligny, Blucher like a coward fled,
as his smitten forces profusely bled.
At Toulon I first distinguished myself
for a career that would exalt oneself.
Rolica, Leipzig, Waterloo like curses came,
but history will forever my triumphs reclaim.

It’s a daily battle
Me versus the fatigue
The soul crushing emptiness that fills me
And the dark thoughts that creep in
My defenses long battered, my energy drained
Chinks in the armor shine through
And I begin to falter, gradually weakening
The darkness asserts itself, carving out a foothold
And the emptiness spreads, filling the cavities of my chest
The days drag on, leading into nights filled with despair
My head pounds, my thoughts race
Will I ever escape this hell?

Fear and sorrow consume me
Conquering reason, allowing the evil to spread
Hope is dead, love has fled
Everywhere my defenses crumble
Leaving me raw and vulnerable

The emptiness has finished tis conquest
I am hollow inside, my soul devastated
The darkness has annexed my brain, destroying my sense of self
I have but one weapon left
An ace in the hole, as it were
Though I fear it may be too late to save me
The darkness lays siege to my last hope
Gnawing away, filling me with doubt
Faith in God has kept me alive
Yet that faith is failing, His presence faltering
I feel abandoned, my light snuffed out
Smoldering coals are all that is left of me

But, before they fade to black
I rally
Calling on my inner strength, and my savior above me
Throwing of the shackles of the darkness
And beginning the fight anew


This fight is eternal
The war shall never end
But I am surviving
I shall always endure

you know why i'm not afraid
of plagiarism?
   memes...
          funny, isn't it,
i don't mind, or, rather,
i started to not mind plagiarism...
because the plagiarists have
been inseminated, ***** even,
i don't know whether i ever
owned a puppet,
but if i'm plagiarised i own a:
cohort...
    it's nice...
     you can rule by ridicule
rather than be ridiculed
as ruling,
notably the english monarchy...
it's nice to have pawns who
don't even think they aren't
pawns...
         but that's the beauty
of intellectual virology -
  an idea is like a virus,
  and the fact intact remains
signifying:
               well: go ahead with it...
i don't mind anonymous
"credit" 4 it...
             you think i have
i have any complacency to mind?
    rot the gnat and vermin...
i am the one to fuse
plague and language together...
         man was
always endowed with a heart
and woman with a heart,
when it came to, politics...
women always, meddle...
           how isn't punctuation
important in writing,
given it be necessary that
equate punctuation with rhyme
and consolidate prose with poetics...
    punctuation = rhyme -
                           overseer? yes.
- and why do i not mind plagiarism,
pontius pilate...
            the only person worth
being remembered of the new testament...
oops..
         why do i not mind
plagiarism... i know they'll mutate,
morph...
             but that doesn't matter...
a part of me remains,
  and all the better should the plagiarism
be otherwise be defined...
         but it's too late:
the innocent seed competes
with the forbidden fruit...
i have my paupers and my
                  puppets...
                 for grit and gift of word,
i have my: assembly...
            you can plagiarise all you want,
all i ever gain is yet another
puppeteer's string of
                          limb annexed.
i love the idea of memes & plagiarism...
it means the utmost anonymous
            influence being exerted:
how far is the puppeteer away
from the necrophiliac, may i ask?
   thank you for a chance to
not prioritise a demand for
a gene chronology on the altar of Cronus,
allowing me, to,
   ******* my meme,
rather than consecrating my gene
in the ******* of fake white
             and...
  the agony of what would be to come...
    ever wonder the mystery
of autumn, when a southern wind
blows?

i never understood why people decided to couple such symbols into images esp. in fictional narratives rather than see the sound in lipstick smooched for symphony; how hard you try, the a to z will not provide you with a mental cinema image of a giraffe; more like a gaff, and what's a gaff in photo? leopard on giraffe or a giraffe on a leopard, because it's all very fine telling the narrative of traffic coordination evolution coming back from africa with the zebra to suit pitchfork stoppages in hay on the redneck lazed walk. the sole reason why it's understood: fiction is the use of lettering for the creation of images, poetry is the use of lettering a bit like a waterfall for a bored emperor apprehensive of the sound of thinking; and philosophy is the reverse of all that, strike two flints together, and enter the realm of ideas with the onomatopoeia of the image - given that onomatopoeias act like surgical scalpels, or a miscarriage of ideas bundled up for something else by kandinsky; actually, saying that, onomatopoeias are images in motion, prior to the movies, when all you had was a painting embraced by a fancy rim - still life of decay of the royal flotilla on the thames with a mouth moving: chatty chatty boor of a bloke who talked.*

i see the dead sea when i cry,
and i wager
a salmon with other sea fish cropping up flying
into a butterfly net:
before the assemblage of bacon
into the mouth watering eye.

i see the dead sea when i cry,
and i wager
to have seen a thousand flamingos
strut invoking tide -
on a boneless march into marsh of
a bubbled gill of fish popped for whatever name alive,
or dead in the disco crescendo for a nixon:

tears of a robot had always the glory of man laughing akin;
since annexed was the dualistic ambiguity
of the theatrically mistaken two masked.

There it is, a wind from the East
A motion of warmth returns home
It moves, and something flutters
It moves, and I elate

Vacillant being, do not delay
With trite footings and teased notions
Here is the eclipse
A pinpoint light on you

Annexed streams, flow with the ghost
Who swells up our fervor
Who holds premonition
As we study the other

With the mood of the currents
Trees concave and vex
Leaves are fickle things
When the wind is cold

Dearest wind, whisper then laugh
Froth the waters, dismiss the clouds
Curl into these sails
Curl into me, do not delay

We got 6 bars and 6 churches,
each with similar congregations.
You might say we got that perfect
balance between grace and humiliation.

It doesn't end there, though.
We're run by a council of six,
if you include the mayor, Orin,
who lost the state election
because he couldn't represent
a cow if he had
crayons and construction paper.
He's got some creds,
if you take into account
he built a tractor museum
in a train depot
moved a half mile down
a minimum maintenance,
travel at your own risk road,
frequented by the hormonal.

But I digress. Oh yes,
we have a council of six,
each from one of the six
similar congregations,
each from one of the six
houses of libations.

However, every first Saturday,
they meet, informally so to speak,
under the torn tarp at Ernie's,
next to the beach volleyball pit
nobody uses, between the dumpsters
and the railroad tracks,
to discuss matters too urgent
for the formal published minutes.

They crinkle their Grain Bin cans
like phrenologists picking
out small crimes that paint
this town true, rural,
downwardly mobile,
cordoned off at the rim.

Few years back, they annexed
Bob Olson's back forty
for one helluva football complex
for our losing team. GO DRAGONS!
But we gotta have it.
Pay itself off in five years they said.
Rentals, events and all that claptrap.
Gloria walks her dogs on the track
everyday. Return on investment.
R O I.
At least she picks up the ****.

Third and Main got ripped up
a year ago last April.
Ain't been paved yet.
I suppose we're waiting
for those more appropriate
appropriations to accrue.

But that's alright,
we saved a fortune firing
our Andy and Barney PD
while Andy was in Afghanistan.
Don't know how they got away with it.
We get two hours of laws a day,
Deputy Dawgs, and meanwhile,
somebody's siphoning gas.
Pretty much sure it's that Keiser kid,
can't hold a job anyway.

I thought better of mowing the lawn today.
I looked at it a bit. Betty, across the street,
is giving me the side-eye as she sweeps
harvest dust from her shingles.
Well Bets, you fussbudget,
I'm working two jobs,
six days a week,
to live in this runt of a town,
so back the hell down.
You may be eighty and spry,
but you got five, count 'em five
courters with John Deere riders tending.

You see, here in the heartland,
where politic is a game played
with cheap beer and hard glances,
where the clapboard houses lose their paint,
where the new, polished surrounds
of seamless siding dictate appearance,
priority and expenditure,
where the churches and bars conspire
to define reputation and aspiration,
the manure-booted men
are denied the dignity of manure
for a sham - for a show
that barely covers the crust and wrinkles
of a town dying slow.

Petal to petal;
Withheld, so brittle.
Unstable yet settled,
Undermine, unleveled.

Spoiled with shadows
Coiled in soil.
Divulge subtle flashes
Of a violet so royal

As within so complex,
Though without context.
You’ll find the subtext
Once this flower is annexed.

I used to live downwind of the slaughterhouse,
the one below the high bluff where the state pen towers,
commanding the best view of the marsh lands
and the stink ponds making lime outta ****
for the crops not meant for human consumption;
by the dry grass parks with the broken backboards
and the netless hoops that never slow a ball down.

I used to live downwind of the rendering plant
where the bubbling lard becomes aerosol
and the air reeks of freezerburn bacon and feces,
below the high bluff where the trustees cut grass
in the clean air not meant for the locals
mixing with the immigrants and loser folk
who have knots in their shoelaces that
press against bone when chasing a loose ball.

This town never grew up. Doesn't need to.
There's plenty of ground for the taking.
Plenty of farmers selling out to the downtown club
who cobble the streets in past time fashion,
netting big gains from the professional set
lining the smooth roads annexed to the east.

I used to live downwind of the closing in stink
of renewal, where the cheap rentals and struggle
stores with the marked-up Walmart brands
lining the shelves - expired but still edible -
bide their short time compressed and diced
up like leftovers for dogs.

But this is America. I don't live there anymore.
I got myself a cush gig with a padded ladder
to the top. Did everything I needed to do
for that sure climb out into a cleaner air,
only to find myself bruise-faced and reeling
when the profits didn't match the dream
and the ladders were sold for scrap.

woken by the cloaked coalition in the early mornings of spring
previous energy diminished on succeeding in infinite failure
that i can't complain or repair, how long is the string
that holds the superseded means of success to your
self annexed left to mature in a golden process
indifference fulfilling best dressed veneer polished
frightened conversationalist demolished hopeless hope-less
view on your own facetious breath of galactic knowledge

You stole my last cigarette and coughed red all over the ashtray. Fountain like it overflowed with our combined wants. Your limbs seemed annexed from your mind and flew all over the place, like across my shoulders, and I had to wriggle out. You drew sticky lines in ash and spit, into a ***** table.

Your mindlessness serves you well, in times like these.

All I could do was collect the half smoked butts and construct them into something not new but at least poisonous. I keep it far from you, though you’re paying as much attention to this as the last bi-election.

Your mindlessness serves you well, in any time.

My smoke creates a protective screen between us, unhappily easily broken by a waving hand or a breath exhaled forcefully. But it’s all we have, so we sit quiet and in our own worlds. You’ve got bats and old songs in your head while I have ****** in mine. Every second of silence is a plot to **** you, every puff, a breath, a gift, a warning. I’d give you anything you want because soon you will be gone and I will take it back.

Everything. The gifts, lies, memories. So your mindlessness won’t serve you so well.

The only thing you get to keep will be a coffin and a lonely name. Keep philosophising into your glass. You want a tin foil hat? Is that your last request? Let me laugh as I dig the hole, I won’t trust anyone else with your death. It belongs to me and I’ll take you and what’s due with utter carelessness.

I close my eyes as you open your mouth and I dream up a better world. It is better because you are not in it. It is better because you are in a grave I had commissioned and then forgotten about and your name is spelt wrong and I had done that and the headstone had been kicked over and maybe I did that or maybe it was some other random marauder with more beer in their veins than blood and an arbitrary rage to exhale.

I woke up into a smoky haze when you touched my arm, asked me for a light. You'd bought a new pack of smokes and two pints. Maybe I can deal with you now. You touched my arm and I started and punched you in the temple.

You don’t mind.

In fact, you laugh and snuggle up to me, take a sip of my beer and steal my cigarette and when I say I can’t wait to **** you, you laugh as if there is no consequence.

We forget about each other as we drink ourselves senseless.

If your heart is full, it must be October again
annexed in California land
every whistle and bell silenced
by Indian summer contraband
Coffee from Zimbabwe
Crimson petals on the sheets
smile in the sunlight, dance to Billie Holiday and repeat.

Alexander
Crooked and darkened by the plague of modern intelligence, Alexander wanders down the familiar streets of their town with a compelling yet distant look nested upon his brow.  Disillusionment had radicalized him long ago and reduced most of his friends to acquaintances, and family to strangers.  Little did he realize that he had annexed himself from happiness when he spent every moment thinking of love and success.  So much so, that he had created standard by which these experiences could be logically sound, stable, and reliable.  If any of the key factors were missing, he dismissed his emotions as if they were late to class and continued about the mania of loneliness.




@A.Zahorcak2014

hubris

cypher: d'
    'e
         -           antithesis
of non-negation: Tt...

i.e. to decipher: lost a
snake's tongue
and a tree's branching out
i.e. Y. (502 bad gateway bypass)

i'm coming up to doing this job for a year, come December,
late December i will have done this for a year,
time's up... time to rewrite my curriculum vitae
point to people who will give me references and apply
for a teaching job...
                                   if i can manage drunken football
spectators and people with mental health issues
freaking out on me and me calming them down...
if i can supervise a team of at most 15 people...
    i think i can tackle a bunch of rowdy teenagers:
even though i have this motto in my head...
sure, i could teach high school chemistry...
   i have the background for that, but...

sometimes it's not what you teach:
but who you teach it to...

same ****, different cover borrowed from that old chestnut
of: it doesn't matter what you know
but rather who you know...

if i could land a job as a primary school teacher i think
i would never again regret not having children
of my own...
i rarely do.... sometimes... there's this "evolutionary psychology"
element to my thinking but it rarely conforms to
what most people speak about...
notably about women...

women? how can i not love women...
i couldn't live with women,
i couldn't do what most men get up to with women
i see them with an invisible leash on their necks...
in the supermarket like down-trodden
beasts pushing the trolley while a woman
is throwing in, not necessarily good food...
certainly not vegetables, not fruits,
ready-*******-meals...
me?! i had a fancy for pizza today...
obviously i'm going to make it from scratch!
obviously i'm going to first make the rising
mixture of a little flower, dried yeast,
sugar and some water... wait for it to rise
and then make the pizza dough... d'uh...
but i see these guys with women who throw ready-made
meals into the trolley... seriously?!
one hour less watching pointless television
and enough time to make a PROPER MEAL...

i sometimes wish the television could be replaced
with a fireplace or... at worst an aquarium
with pretty fish in it... in between? *******...
esp. during the winter months...
i'm not even buying into the whole stereotypical
"oh honey, i'm tired, i have a headache"...
maybe i'm just a freak like that:
lethargy makes me *****, it's an aphrodisiac for me...

the best year of my life... state funding for
the drinking and the writing and earned money
for... prostitutes...
i don't believe in the concept of a worth of virginity...
women are like leather...
the best leather is worn leather...
over the past year having regular ***
(i try at least once a week, the rest of the time
i fill with epic cycling routes, reading, writing,
thinking, not thinking, drinking)
has taught me that there's this great veil
of ******* hanging over society...
clearly i'm a tame **** / a gentlemen or i'm sometimes
peeping into the extremities of ****** lives of...
not actual people: actors...
once more, to reiterate... we are living
under a Thespian Tyranny...

i once mentioned that we live under a Silicon Curtain...
if there was once an Iron Curtain coming from
the Soviet Union... now there's the Silicon Curtain
coming from stateless entities, companies...
who the **** knows or even bothers to care...
the media conglomerate coupled with internet social
media companies... oh... and let's not forget
the dating apps...

a rekindled fascination with Taoism from my teenage
years having found a pinpoint to a person
whom to associate Taoism with, i.e. Zhuangzi
have paid off... the best way you can help the world
is to forget the world and let the world forget you...
but with the current state of the world...
i'm growing "paranoid" / suspicious...
i'm on my own path, i'm living a life of a freedom
some kings would weep over to have...
i don't want to engage with the world...
i've forgotten the world, but it seems the world
wants to remember a little bit of me...

ooh yeah... that little mix of brandy and whiskey...
let's call her, i.e. the spirit: bra-     +   -ndy
                                                vs. bran-  +   - d(y)
          whis-  +         -key...

a quadratic... brankey... ****...
     brakey... sounds better...

                                   whisdy... whisp?! whisdy...
whiskey can be too smoky sometimes...
then again it can turn into bourbon and become too sweet...
there's a whiskey in between these two extremes...
but brandy, i.e. cognac?
the last one had an aftertaste of chocolate and charcoal...
charcoal is not smoky, it's bitter... so we're basically
talking bitter dark chocolate... which is ******* great...

but i'm bemoaning the fact that i won't be making
my own wine this year... i'll try to make a bottle or two...
but landscaping the garden left me with very little yield...
well... at least i made my favourite flavour ice-cream
this year... no ice-cream like it:
mint and chocolate-chip...
and never! ever! follow the recipes on the internet!
people have become either **** junkies,
or caffeine junkies or... SUGAR junkies...
sure... the Arabs are such greater men because
they have all these NIQAB hidden ****** fetishes
and they don't drink...
but aren't they BACLAVA MAD DIABETICS
on the verge of either amputated limbs or going blind...
but sure... sure... decent human folk because
drinking alcohol is b'ah b'ah bad... *******...

i hate sugar, i hate caffeine... water and nicotine
and vomiting like an Ancient Roman
in the morning... taking a ****... nice... esp. a well rounded
****... although a diarrhoea is just as pleasurable...
*******... hmm... that's a sea-saw debate...
one time true, another time not so...
kissing... or rather stealing kisses from prostitutes...
my grandfather collected stamps...
i steal kisses from prostitutes...

clearly we're living under a Silicon Curtain
and a Thespian Veil of Tyranny...
however we interact or however we love...
******* is not how *** looks like...
like i said before: maybe i'm a tame lover...
the most extreme i ever "accomplished"
was slapping the *** of the ******* top of me
or i either bit her lip, chin or nose...
not hard... i try to be tender...

it's so strange sitting across from 5 women...
and you ****** all 5 of them...
4 are smiling at you, enticing you,
but there's this one grumpy one growing a massive
frown on her face...
as if she's putting on make-up...
you have to go with her because she decided
to go on the pill just for you and for all
the heavens of unprotected ***...
you already bought her lingerie and now she's asking
for more gifts, i.e. jewelry... oh **** me...

i stopped listening to these promises of prostitutes...
this was the last time i listened to her,
we were supposed to spend an entire night in
a hotel room together... she failed...
fair enough... once i'm done ******* these five
i'll look for another brothel, simple!

the steady influx of money has released me
into unexpected territory...
i can finally scrutinise *******:
it's ******* unappealing... it's horrid...
it's acting with the gravest of consequences...
i want a tender ****...
i don't need this western bedroom barbarism!

and i haven't smoked marijuana in well over a decade...
chances being: the chance that was
Elizabeth II dying i met with this Afghan
"Jamie" and he gave me a pinch of the ****...
even i was surprised... i used to sit up and smoke
and listen to music and vaguely remember time:
because time extended into eternity when i did...
this time round?
first i had to take my first aphrodisiac:
lethargy from a shift...
my second aphrodisiac: a bottle of 8.2% dry cider...
basically half a bottle of wine...
aphrodisiac three: i had to walk alone
in the night... hmm... that "star" so close to the moon,
esp. when detailed on all those Muslim flags...
that's not a star... that's the planet Venus...
seems like Islam is a cult of the marriage of the Moon
with the planet Venus...
fourth aphrodisiac: a sip a two a three of
either whiskey or cognac...
fifth aphrodisiac: three cigarettes...

who the hell said you need chemistry to invoke
a hard-on?! well... if you're ******* a beached-whale
i wouldn't be surprised... if you have something
against a woman that's like a leather: of anything...
chair, sofa or jacket...
i found out that women "taste" better if
they have been with a man beside yourself...
they're... more keen... they actually have some:
"ambition"... no no... it's not arrogance...
they have... confidence....

and come to them akin to a ZZ-Top song:
sharp dressed men... they ******* lose it before finding it
very quickly...
the last one i had i first had a forced *******
with... luckily the ******* did the trick the first
time round: otherwise i would have left
frustrated... and howled into the night...

second time i don't remember...

third time? a talkative... スカ... SÜKA
   Ü = UU / Sue SOON... in the ****** zunge that's...
it's not *****, *****... it's a female dog that
readily gives *** to males...
not so talkative when the ******* began...
she contorted her face as if she was in pain..

it's a more endearing word than, say, KURVA...
i.e. *******, it's more a case of:
i'm *****, she's *****, i want to ****, she wants to
****... we ****...
but none of this pornographic extremes
of Thespian nymphomaniacs,
as a "poet" i feel i have a duty to obligate
people to turn away from these faceless
shadow-stealing phantoms...

this one writer in particular, a Joseph Roth from
the Austro-Hungarian Empire noted the rise
of the Thespians back in the earliest dictates
of the 20th century...
  
oh it was funny... i only paid for half an hour...
at least not half a steak and a ticket to the movies...
but as i was about to leave: ****'s sake...
another hard-on... but the ******* was pulled back...
dried up... i laughed, she laughed when i asked her for
some oil to lubricate and pull the ******* back...
well i can't be walking about
with an "unsheathed sword"... can i?

i like writing about women in a way that Marquis de Sade
never wrote about them, like i might have some
revenge strategy in place...
as long as i'm not lied to... i'm fine...
the moment people start spinning me fictions they
speak: but never write...
i start thinking about grating cheese...
or feeding my cats turkey steaks...
i take great precision cutting the steaks
delicately as if i'm preparing sushi...

i like the texture of raw, dead, meat under my fingers
in a way that compensates itself with the
touch of living meat under my fingers
after i scrubbed my fingers against a brick or
two... when touching a *******'s body
i need rough finger-tips...

but i won't be buying into this western libido "insomnia"
any time soon...
*** in real life is or never will be what the pornographic
industry prescribes or... well... back in the 1970s...
the Italian movies had tender loving care...
these days... it's ******* sadistic... all that ****
and all that one woman "vs." five men power action
*******...

if i am healthy *** with prostitutes...
that tells you a lot about the supposed "healthy"
people having "healthy" *** with other "healthy" people...
clearly unhealthy...
sure, i too have my kinks... but i don't enact
them... that's why they're kinks...
they're part of the cognitive circus that will never be seen!

well... apart from the one renegade clown...
you'll always see a clown from that circus...
i don't know why i decided to write about ***...
over-saturation is my best guess...
talk of *** in the most wrong sort of way...
that must have been the clue...
annexed ******* of disused men's capacity
coupled with a woman's over-stipend over
excusing herself in "too much action"...
whichever the case is...

the world has passed me by,
or rather: i passed the world by...
and turned around and said:
clearly no, i don't feel like it...
even for all the riches you have on offer...
i don't, feel like, it!
the richer a man becomes
the more obligation he has to his status
and the woman he, most assuredly has
to take for company!
me? i have zero to no obligations / dedications
for status and a woman of status...
i like women like i old leather:
they always tastes better if they have been
with plenty of men and i know that to be true...
****, lips, arm-pints and all that's thighs!
**** too...

             i'm not a jealous man...
i wish i could be a jealous god... but i'm not jealous
at all... that's my weakness...
i believe in love: universal...
hell... if women think it's worth sharing their beauty
and majesty.. why refrain from the argument
they're making... after all...
whether pretty or ugly: all can admire the sun
come either sunrise or sunset...

if that's how it's supposed to be...
   so it is to be...
she tells me my name is not Matteo: you can't be
a Matteo... i tell her in a groveling voice:
CON-RAD...
finally she understands me.

She helps him as he struggles, awakes of the cabbie’s pitiful stare,
Her man, her prince, again too drunk to care,
Leans for support, to stagger to the door,
He’s had too much, hanging out, aching to his core.
She doesn’t speak, just implores, ‘can you make it to the gate?’
Her eyes gaze on, as she wonders, how did it get this late?

Chris, Dave, Jack, Sam; he’s seen it all before,
One and the same, with the same poor girl, never wanting more.
He sees the care go all one way, until it’s thrown back in her face,
The words change up, a variable phrase, but always a bitter taste.
He bites his tongue, watches on, and sees the scene unfold again
Pretty dresses, different colours, where each hand leaves a sweaty stain.

‘He’s lovely, so sweet’ she says to her friends, ‘just some growing up to do’
Whilst inwardly wondering ‘is this it? Now the gilt’s worn off the new?’
Then one day she waits, he comes around, nothing to suggest what’s coming next,
‘I think we should break up’ he says. She stops, her feelings annexed.
Not a word, not a sign, he leaves without saying goodbye
Controlled, she waits until the door clicks shut, before breaking down and begging ‘why?’

This empty room holds no answers, chest hurts, eyes bleed, heart breaks.
Hoping and praying he’ll come back, that it’s all been a big mistake
Those final words, with no explanation, leaves her with ‘what about me wasn’t right?’
The hours pass, the tears subside, but that final question drags her into the night.
Next the phone call, the ‘I’m sorry, I miss us, all I can think of is you’
He begs, he cries, that final question, what do you want me to do?

She tells him she doesn’t know, but that he can fix it, he just has to work out how.
He doesn’t know, comes up with promises he’ll break and then one final vow:
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’ve sobered up, and we’ll sort all this out’
With that she sleeps, content in the knowledge that he does care, after all.
Next day time passes, as the sun goes down her happiness dissipates
Until at last she accepts it, with that final question, ‘how did it get this late?’

Perplexed, perplexed!
Bewildered by ***.
My souls dazed; my hearts annexed.

Digress, Digress.  
Alluding to brooding.
My thoughts eluding, the devils colluding  

Oh tonto, oh tonto!
Amou ha huido, Oscuridad se ha apoderado.
Yo soy el fuego, infierno es mi paraiso.

Both sides of the Arbela militia remained frosty, failing to tear the wrath of the throne from the depths of the charter and from the expropriation of the votive temple, in view of the strength of leaders who were reinserted and rewritten from the plaster of Parnassus, where the beatifices Mortals are seen competing without having references or additions in the washer that predominated by chance referring to athletes and gladiators who were not, but today they could be spiked in the crushing Syntagamatarchos table, captaining two units all with their abdomen semi open, re liquidating again the entrails by the Ghosts of Shiraz, who came from Roknabad (also known as Aub-e Rokní), from an underground channel that carried water from the spring to the city from a mountain located ten kilometers northeast of Profitis Ilias, from where until then they were commanded, with dispatches of their designs before a voluntary prodigy that emancipates a perplexed Meltem i that he was haphazardly swirling in the funerary fields, but descriptive of returning to the fields their souls, which abstained after ephemeris towards a knowledge resigned to abide by it, and to get rid of transcendental limitations commanded by his blowing, and not his body that was clouded before the conspicuous epistemological reason flashed and relaxed when comforting them for having to calibrate their bones when they returned to Mosul. The Colosso pedestals were breaking when it intimidated everyone to flee to their homes, in this way it calmed them down from the quicksilver of the world that was no longer their typical dwelling, from a dwelling of transit to a story that deals with the flys that are they hover, pretending to be the same, banishing themselves from the pain that rises up the cervical spine and that dismisses the ridiculous voices of Aeschylus with their acting choruses that they seemed dilapidated in cries impossible to personify. The ******* brave pieces of deployment began to drain from the secondary positions of the penultimate physicalities of suffering that one felt without being affected, rather it manifested itself in the contents of an essential muscular container, of the subsistence of the cosmos installed in what does not think nor decide on its retraction. Vernarth and Alexander the Great knelt in front of the larnax of the torments of mercy, like ***** language that lashes out rhetoric in rebellions of thousands of hoplites who expiated themselves from their hands, empty spiked race contained in the perjury of Zeus, enrolled in apocryphal images in tombs of those who were going to be faced with pseudo refractory that was recluses of the fleshless breath, but anarchic when trying to return to their places of origin of warlike Tikun.

The traits of annihilation were shed from buried reanimates that became slime in the reverie of a mythological God who never accompanied them and invited them from a cohabiting sun, which was only the fantasy of irresistible permutations. It should be noted that the subplot was in intangible interfaces that would never be stitched together as an annexed story, but the words of parapsychology were captained by themselves more than the sub plotline that transcended the apostrophe of death, and the Pronoia of the Peri Kousmos. The doors of Patmia were finally released and speculative vines re-flowered were Lotos and Astragalus, as courtesies of Operandi and impairment that replaced the ****** elderberry, with chalks that made the winter raging when Persephone rampaged what was merely monthly erratic of those who exiled her. The senses of Patmos were the property of his Institution, which was what it is and is not, for a holistic consequence of fast ideology but of minimal intuition, which lay in multiple reasons for tissues that were filled with crop fields, animals in Magna prairies that agreed to serve the man who loved him, in which the causes were two meters before the limen that sent her off the cliff in other causes of confusion, in a real creation of zoological Hellenic neuroscience, where all forms of mythology were made of submithology, always at the side of man but this time redeemed from the origin and cause, they only persevere to offend a certain space of ignorance where the like all prevaricated by large amounts subordinate to their lineage, in the kingdom of paradises from which only animals protect the doors that only Cerberos and Cherubim open, scrutinizing food for them and making use of them.

Patmos was remade of all the waterfalls that completed the rigors of the precept, and not the chaos that subordinates cognition to make night day or day night, pouring specimens that were and will be ignored but extremely useful for the preservation of the body of the unsupported objective and sumptuous, but of a systemic nature that does and sustains it. The Souls of Helenikká and Trouvere graced all the inhabitants towards a comprehensive evolution of the ***** of dreams, giving it the fruits of conservation where the lords of the future will have to bow to the laborious principle of the Mashiach, conciliating the arrest of the stars and not of what is reactive of an invasive action. Thus ended this subplot rhetoric of intuitive formality and metaphysical channeling character, leading them through plumbing that led from what was coming out from the Raedus Codex, from the wind tunnel, and what was coming in from here identical to its elevation towards the direct apotheosis of the Megaron that was splendid in four composition buttresses with more than two drops of laudanum, which will be insignificant ***** to save the cosmos from falls of vitality in the conclusion of Vernarth.

Saint John the Evangelist after several sleeping episodes of his spiritual experience, reappears in the sucker of modality and intentions that the drops of laudanum manifested to fill the pain of Vernarth's tragedy, and those that are manifested to him that they became resurrected entelechies of component solutions speculative, that were reborn from certain internal devastations, and that returned vague automata to the Achaemenids that emerged from the depths of this professorial subplot, to bring them with the simplicity of lexicons that were loving realities that would lie behind the veils of illusion, transgressing properties of a totalizing daphnomancy. Due to his parliament, Áullos Kósmos eliminated himself braided from the road when he expresses fatigue and regret, calming the reasons in the flight from himself. He starts from demoralization and hidden impotence of the Hoplite that would not come out of himself, because it is a frenzy of consternation that makes him start from the unshakable grief of his compassion, without reaching the surface of the ethical plane.

Adventure Days
They say a cornered man will fight till the end
For simply has nothing to lose
Except his life when the cards are revealed
The dice is rolled ***** to the wall kaput
You know what I mean no more examples
Need to be said but one final example
That of Ukraine in February 2022
Since late 2021 the nation has been
Threatened by Neo Soviet Russia
Surrounded on 3 sides by hostile land
The 4th side is water which they can own
NATO flew in Javelin and Stinger missiles
To **** tanks choppers and jets
The Ukrainians have enough bullets
Most made in Russia or the Soviet Union
To **** their fellow brothers who turned
On them in the worst case of cabin fever
That Europe has seen since Yugoslavia
And Marshall Tito's precious union died
This will be far worse than that
Could **** millions ruin Europe the world
Trigger World War 3 like a Tom Clancy book
Or a video game or heavy metal song or film
But this little escapade by Putin is real
He re-armed Russia and wants his empire back
He's part way there but millions will refuse
To be ruled from Moscow and be proxies again
Those days are gone except in his rabid mind
Soon his army must be used or go home
It is tiring and costs millions to be ready
The 200,000 Russian Red Army at readiness
Waiting for the order to invade their kin
Over the border brothers and sisters
Many with dual nationality and identity
But Ukraine is a sovereign nation
And will fight back as they've done since 14
When Putin the Dog annexed Crimea
And took East Ukraine which he still holds now
He wants the rest and for them to be his
Never ever join NATO and be European pals
Plus allied to the Yankees his worst nightmare
Ruining his dream the world their lives WHY???

to the few that
it does matter to....
it really doesn't;
it never really  had
and never will have,
as said: it's not the words
but the punctuation
that said anything.
i had a ghost,
and it was the everyday
shadow axed and annexed;
i too believe in
whatever there is to be believed;
and my generation ensured
that means **** and the rests
in the Para-Olympics.