Wheer 'asta bean saw long and mea liggin' 'ere aloan?
Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, Doctor's abean an' agoan;
Says that I moant 'a naw moor aale; but I beant a fool;
*** ma my aale, fur I beant a-gawin' to break my rule.

Doctors, they knaws nowt, fur a says what 's nawways true;
Naw soort o' koind o' use to saay the things that a do.
I 've 'ed my point o' aale ivry noight sin' I bean 'ere.
An' I 've 'ed my quart ivry market-noight for foorty year.

Parson 's a bean loikewoise, an' a sittin' ere o' my bed.
"The amoighty 's a taakin o' you to 'isen, my friend," a said,
An' a towd ma my sins, an' s toithe were due, an' I gied it in hond;
I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.

Larn'd a ma' bea. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch to larn.
But a cast oop, thot a did, 'bout Bessy Marris's barne.
Thaw a knaws I hallus voated wi' Squoire an' choorch an' staate,
An' i' the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin the raate.

An' I hallus coom'd to 's choorch afoor moy Sally wur dead,
An' 'eard 'um a bummin' awaay loike a buzzard-clock ower me 'ead,
An' I niver knaw'd whot a mean'd but a thowt a 'ad summut to saay.
An' I thowt a said what a owt to 'a said, an' I coom'd awaay.

Bessy Marris's barne! tha knaws she laaid it to mea.
'Siver, I kep 'um, I kep 'um, my lass, tha mun understond;
I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.

But Parson a cooms an' a goas, an' a says it easy an' freea:
"The amoighty 's taakin o' you to 'issen, my friend," says 'ea.
I weant saay men be loiars, thaw summun said it in 'aaste;
But 'e reads wonn sarmin a weeak, an' I 'a stubb'd Thurnaby waaste.

D' ya moind the waaste, my lass? naw, naw, tha was not born then;
Theer wur a boggle in it, I often 'eard 'um mysen;
Moast loike a butter-bump, fur I 'eard 'um about an' about,
But I stubb'd 'um oop wi' the lot, an' raaved an' rembled 'um out.

Keaper's it wur; fo' they fun 'um theer a-laaid of is' faace
Down i' the woild 'enemies afoor I coom'd to the plaace.
Noaks or Thimbleby--toaner 'ed shot 'um as dead as a naail.
Noaks wur 'ang'd for it opp at 'soize--but *** ma my aale.
Dubbut loook at the waaaste; theer warn't not feead for a cow;
Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' loook at it now--
Warn't worth nowt a haacre, an' now theer 's lots o' feead,
Fourscoor yows upon it, an' some on it down i' seead.

Nobbut a bit on it 's left, an' I mean'd to 'a stubb'd it at fall,
Done it ta-year I mean'd, an' runn'd plow thruff it an' all,
If godamoighty an' parson 'ud nobbut let ma aloan,--
Mea, wi haate hoonderd haacre o' Squoire's, an' lond o' my oan.

Do godamoighty knaw what a's doing a-taakin' o' mea?
I beant wonn as saws 'ere a bean an yonder a pea;
An' Squoire 'ull be sa mad an' all--a' dear, a' dear!
And I 'a managed for Squoire coom Michaelmas thutty year.

A mowt 'a taaen owd Joanes, as 'ant not a 'aapoth o' sense,
Or a mowt a' taaen young Robins--a niver mended a fence:
But godamoighty a moost taake mea an' taake ma now,
Wi' aaf the cows to cauve an' Thurnaby hoalms to plow!

Loook 'ow quoloty smoiles when they seeas ma a passin' boy,
Says to thessen, naw doubt, "What a man a bea sewer-loy!"
Fur they knaws what I bean to Squoire sin' fust a coom'd to the 'All;
I done moy duty by Squoire an' I done moy duty boy hall.

Squoire 's i' Lunnon, an' summun I reckons 'ull 'a to wroite,
For whoa 's to howd the lond ater mea that muddles ma quoit;
Sartin-sewer I bea, thot a weant niver give it to Joanes,
Naw, nor a moant to Robins--a niver rembles the stoans.

But summun 'ull come ater mea mayhap wi' 'is kittle o' steam
Huzzin' an' maazin' the blessed fealds wi' the Divil's oan team.
Sin' I mun doy I mun doy, thaw loife they says is sweet,
But sin' I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn abear to see it.

What atta stannin' theer fur, an' doesn bring me the aale?
Doctor 's a 'toattler, lass, an a's hallus i' the owd taale;
I weant break rules fur Doctor, a knaws naw moor nor a floy;
*** ma my aale, I tell tha, an' if I mun doy I mun doy.

By Nabs

    When I was little, I dreamed of being a princess.
Just like so many others do.

Imagining all the fun we will have.
Of Tea times and dressing in the finest dresses, wearing tiaras, and jewels,
      all day of the week.
              Princesses only seems to dress prettily in the stories.
                
We all dreamt of the same thing,
        Happy endings that always come at the end, cherished and pampered.

        Most of all loved by everyone.

  Princesses were always loved because she was inherently kind. Inherently docile.
Inherently pure and innocent.
              Inherently beautiful.

( Remember, Your purity is your worth)
                  
                            None of them was because
                                  people respected them.

All of them was because
Of their beauty.

      ( A princess have to pamper their self to utmost perfection, your beauty define your worth)

Princess is a symbol of perfection.
                                      Symbol of Divinity.

A guideline for Goodness and womanhood.
                Standards that shaped and pushed them self to little girls to be molded into a perfect piece of art that they them self would rarely get to enjoy.

( Art pieces, after all cannot admire them self)
    
                We have to strive for divinity and no less, because less means
        we will be condemned to be the wicked ones.

( No one bother to tell us that it is unreachable.)

        No one wanted to be the wicked ones because history burned who ever were branded as wicked.

      ( we stood on a world
piled with their ashes
          and everyone will claim it as a victory)

        One of the lesson, that these tale seems to croons that there is no in between for us.
        That there is only two archetypes for girls to grow up to.
The Princess or the Evil Witch.

Choose, the tale seems to shout.
            ( be obedient, be submissive).
                    (Good girls)
                ( Princess lives happily ever after).

(Fight, rebel, speak)
        (Bad girls)
  ( Evil witch will always be burned)
      
  ( This are the endings we have set for you, girls)

          Back then, after going home from school, I would read tales about princesses from all over the world.  
From Africa
                to Europe
                              to Asia.
      I devoured them like they were gospels, Laughing delightedly when the princes save the day then marries the princess, and frowning when the villain managed to defeat the heroes.
Happy endings,
      Happy endings.
( Death, is the only happy ending we will really get)

    I learned that to have a happy ending, a prince need to save me,
                from my self.

( Every princesses need a prince,
for a proper princess cannot save herself.
                
            You need to be saved to be complete)

      My parents called me their little darling princess, Their crown jewel,
              Their most cherished treasure.
They would hug me, clothed me, spun me into a figurine that they like.
Telling me that I am theirs.
Flesh and blood,
              Glittering orbs of red.
                                          Ownership.
Another princess tales, which plot echoes through out time. Beggars can't be choosers.
                              The same way a princess can't  choose anything for them self.

The tale said,
    A good daughter is an obedient daughter.

Shouting and screaming is prohibited.

( Lower your voice,
        princesses don't raise their voice.

They speak softly as soft as the flutter of butterfly wings

            or preferably they don't speak at all.)

      To be a princess, foremost is to sacrifice your whole being,
      To subdued your self
          To stop being human,
                and start being a treasure, a jewel.
Being fought over for the rights of possession.

( Isn't that the most highest pedestal you can put someone to?)

        As I grew up, these tales keep following me.

( Dont run, princesses never run.
                                    They submit.)
Of Snow white,
      Who was treated as if she was only an object of desire after the prince saw her dead in the glass coffins.
( You're mine, you got that?)

Of the sleeping beauty silence,
            that was taken as a consent to ravished her until she woke up because she gave birth to twins.
( Babe, you like this don't you? You have to, you're made for this)

Of the little mermaid plight,
      Discarding herself completely to be accepted on the lands, trading her voice and being in excruciating pain for her prince.
                        The one who will not love her.
( You look horrible in that, change into something prettier and for god sake, put some make up on)

Of Atalanta, who could not escape marriage
              and forced to marry a man she lost a race  unfairly to, because her father decrees so in the first place.
( My princess, you can't be with that person.  
                    They're not suited for you,
                              We want the best for you.
You don't know what's best for you. )
              
Of Bawang Putih and Bawang Merah,
                Echoing the morals, how your beauty define you, how you will be evil if you are less than beautiful.
( She's ugly, that's why she's jealous of her)

Of Putri Hijau ending,
            That to be free from being under the power of men, you have to jump into the ocean.
(You are mine, forever)

Of the archetypes for Good and Evil,
            ****, *****,
                      *****, Saint,
                              Witch, Princess.
( A good girl says yes, A bad girl say no)

How The Tales, often than not,
                          parallel each others, as if trying to drill them self into our subconsciousness with these toxic message.

( Princesses belongs to the people.
                      She never belongs to herself. )

These unspoken rules followed me into adulthood.

            Subconscious message of how to be  loved you need to be less.
You need to submit,
to be obedient,
docile,
pure,
innocent,
        most of all, you need to be beautiful.

      That beauty is how you're going to get your prince. Never it is because your wit, your courage, your wisdom,
what use do you have for them if you don't have a pretty face.

                No husband will find ever find you.

( Remember, wicked ones doesn't have a prince to set them straight.

                You don't want to be a wicked one,
                                                  Now do you?

So spread your legs, and lay down.
Take it. Atta girl!  )

These unreachable standards, bound us the same way they bound people feet to be dainty.
                They are rules for us to be less human, to be a thing.
      A princess, in this world is another term for a possession.

            (There is no such things as an independent princess, object need owners)

The stories always put them in gilded cages.

Once I asked why?
          Why do they need to be caged?
Why can't they be free?
        
The tales said that beautiful things needed somewhere to be kept.

The tales said many thing,
        seemingly innocent but  screaming about our worth, girls worth in the society.

(You need to be pretty for anyone to love you.)

(You're good if you are obedient.)

(You have no need for your voice,
                Silence is the only voice you need.)

(You're made to just lay down and take it.)

(You need a man to complete you
                                      and set you straight.)

(Never be yourself.)

I grew up wanting to be a princess,
Just like many others do.
        What we realized, to be a princess
                                  We have to be a slave.
                                      We have to be dead.

2 cups of atta flour
mix it with a cup of lukewarm water
add a pinch of salt
Ready to knead the dough
Knead it soft, knead it hard
Throw it on the air
Roll it on the table
Rest it for sometime
While you check on your curry
Perfect TENGGIRI fish curry
Put it in microwave, Nuke it
the aroma fills the air...
Smells good... salive drops oppss...
Heat the pan now dear
8 chapati all together fresh in a bowl
one by one roll it well
make it really round
a little bit of ghee, hmm... smells like heaven
my daughter waits with a plate in her hand
one chapati ready,
two chapati ready,
three chapati ready,
Mummy I leave the plate on the table now
I want to switch on the tv
My daughter comes back
all three chapati are stolen...
She screams out loud
WHO STOLE MY CHAPATI?????
And the chapati war begins.....

The schedule is set. The schedule cannot be touched. No. No. I do not bluff. Do not mess with my plans do not think you can change them, I have a way of completing them as I had previously arranged them. You will be kind, you will be neat. You will most certainly not drag your feet. Be on time. Leave swiftly when we are done. Remember, this isn't about having fun. You will take a test, choose an answer, A through D. You grades depend on your answers, no, you cannot plea. Because everything here is standard. That's why we call it a standardized test you see. We want to know how average you are. How basic can we make you. How can we take all of your skills, intelligence, capability and capacity and smush it together? A test of course, A through D, the letter you choose will determine what you mean to me. It will define you in the long run and can hurt or help a great deal. So don't buy into all of the nonsense that you are creative. No, we want none of that here, unless it is in the art room, and we're talking about paper and what you can smear. Because here it's all about what you "know" although I don't care if you understand or remember it. I'm just doing what the government thinks is best, they give me all of my money, so I always adhere to it. No, I don't care about you, your relationships, uniqueness, or capacity to change this world. I just care about what letter you bubble in on that test, so go ahead, pick C, so our statistics can go up and the school board will get an "atta girl."

I speak of fear, sheer limbic,
Reptilian fear, and there’s the rub:
Obliterate thought and all that’s left is fear,
And fear’s known associates & cronies:
Hunger, Thirst, *** & everything else
Triggering our amygdale nether brains,
Each synapse a single primal scream,
Rich Reichian fodder and sacrificial yawp,
Whitman’s bleating syllable, straight bedrock,
Down low on the Hierarchy of Human Needs.
Abraham Maslow: another shrewd Jew from
Brooklyn, New York. Atta boy Abe:
Adrenaline pure and simple,
An instinct for survival.
I suppose my only regret in life,
Was that I was not old enough to be
A victim of the Holocaust.
I mean nothing facetious or disrespectful by this.
(Like Jesus, I was born a Jew.)
All I mean is that a stint at Auschwitz or
Bergen-Belsen, might have done wonders for me,
Saving me much time, given the number of books
I’ve read on the subject, just trying to get my heart &
Mind around the throat of evil.
My story is truth, not science fiction.
Yet, I confess to having some difficulty
Discerning the difference lately.
Perhaps this is why my mind wanders.
That’s probably what I love best about Stanley Kubrick—
Another insightful New York Jew.
His vision of space, namely the shrewd perception,
That after 5,000 years of recorded human history,
It was going to be difficult.
It would be a challenging enterprise,
Noodging the human race to choose,
A more cerebral path;
A state of mind & brilliant grace,
Embrace a kinder, fearless self and future.
Kubrick understood he must first take us to Odulvai,
Our primal anthropological killing fields,
Then he could transport us to outer space.
Only then, could we evolve,
Adapt to cooperation and tolerance,
Shift our future focus,
Our natural and spiritual resources,
Our potential.
Collaboration not competition.
2001: A Space Odyssey: released
A year before the Apollo program
Put a man on the moon, five years
Before the space station Skylab.
Kubrick’s gift to mankind was a clear new perspective:
Man in space looking back at a very small holistic Earth,
And an infant self, both diminished,
Made insignificant in a vast cosmic context.
Other forces were at work, of course,
Lying in wait as always, global forces
Co-opting the vision, drowning it in an old
Unabashedly mercantile reality.
That Darwinian old world order,
Again, reducing human existence
To an economic absurdity.
Globalism: the scariest Bond villain yet.

****, OK let's do this one more time, if this goes wrong again then we'll just have to go with what we've got

Alright let's go.
I think you should bring the boom in just a bit closer. Yeah no that's too close, it's in frame - oh. Yeah that's it. OK, sound
Check
Lights.
Check
Camera, rolling.
Uh, scene 74, take 21

Action.

So kid, I uh heard you wanna be a rockstar. You know it's a tough profession, you're gonna have to deal with these thousands of people wanting to be close to you, and you're gonna have to make sure you choose the right people to come close. Oh and the talent you need to be a true rockstar, you sure you got it?

Yeah!

Atta boy.

Hello father
Don't mean to bother.
How are ya
I know that you're mad at me.
Forgive me please man you atta.
You gotta.
Embarassed.
Is what I am I want to perish.
Every conversation I cherish I'm trying not to be spiteful of all our small talk.
I know we're over due a long talk.
And every where you go somehow people know you are my dad.
It gets me thinking about incredible moments we've had.
But on the real I'm trying so hard not to bug you.
But do you think you can stop nagging at my drug use.
I'm two weeks clean.
No longer a phean.
I'm 21 but yet I feel 16.
And I love you I swear.
You know I know you're there.
And when the time is right, you know that I will take care
Of anything we need, in our family.
I started writing poems, when I do shows will you stand with me.
Can I get a little money for my new honey that's hell of fine.
And I forgot to mention I got divorced from my job and my last dime.
My mind's going crazy but outside I look calm.
Everything is running out from time to my lip balm.
Disappointed but never leave me.
I will need ALL your love and the word whenever the devil just gets me under pressure.

Ussse Allah sE khof Araha tha bepanah khof wo kiTna
taqatwar tha Kia nahi kr skta tha wo kitna meharban tha Kia
NI krTa tha insan ko insan rakhna USSE atta tha kbhi Gazab
se Kabhi ahsan se wo usse us k daire me hi rakhta tha

disclaimer: i had to change the title, the original was... arsenal of "nukes" / morse code conceptualisation of sudoku - but i had a stunning revelation at the end of this verse.

-------------------------------------------

what?! me order indian take away?! what do you have me for, a ****** charlatan? americans have their arsenal of nukes, the russians have their arsenal of nukes: me? i have my arsenal of indian spices! beat that: yoo muvva faa'kers! (you know, said as that chinese guy says it, in the first hangover movie).

i.

finally! i found the holy grail of the indian cuisine,
not so much a website that has all the recipes,
rather: it's a dictionary of all the various
curry broths... cook4one.co.uk -
one you have the lingua coquus -
the lingo of what's what - mind you -
i'm like a "mujahideen", in that i know
only singled out words of "arabic"
and am convinced that i'll be bilingual
to fully embrace the jihad,
although i'm neither, hence the inverted
commas,
  let's just say: i overshot the mark,
and landed in india, and am not recreating
a chemical experiment:
thinking - **** me, a bit humid 'ere,
in goa?
  so the mujahideen's arabic is like my
sanskrit...
but then again: i abide by culinary,
rather than theocratic nouns -
  and i'm already bilingual -
i pity those english monolingual
cripples who went off to syria, i really do,
might as well chop off their tongues:
and sit them in a wheelchair,
and teach them arabic in sign-language...
these "warriors of allah" are nothing
but a ****** farce... if you going to fight
for a cause like that: at least speak
the ****** language...
  or, as the english say: go back home!
good point, born in poland, but living
in england for 23 years...
where's home?
           wait wait, let me get my copernican
compass out...
      well... you'd be glad to know:
my home is in the bermuda delta -
****** keeps spinning like a sufi dervish.

anyway, today of all days, two curries,
turmeric infused rice (yellow, always
nice to spot canary maggots),
and? JAH PAAAA TÍ!
**** the difference in flower...
  what was i using?
   chakki atta (pilsburg group) -
so soft, so tender, so mmm: yom...
  last week i messed the dough:
******! you pour in the warm water gradually...
thank god i saved my reputation
as the curry boss of the household...
and as i usually do with dough...
treat it like a punch bag, can't be bothered
kneading the dough, so i punch it.

the curries? ooh... beauties...
for one it was cayenne pepper rather than
chilli powder...

garam masala in both,
which i had to made from scratch...
do you really add turmeric and omit
adding cinnamon? i can't remember.

the first? (oi oi, 'ere comes my "mujahideen"
lingo in sanskrit)
  a passada chicken curry... almost a korma
but not quite...
     i just remember bashing
raisins in the pestle & mortar, adding almost,
not using any tomatoes,
   inviting chicken stock... etc. etc.

the second curry? a chicken saag -
the etymological derivative being?
   saag: a general term for tender green leaves
(such as spinach)...
    walking into an indian kitchen is probably
more intoxicating than walking
into a parisian perfumery,
                         or a jewish bakery;
said what i had to say, and that's that.

ii.

now, could it really have been a day when
i wouldn't have attempted, yet another,
reconceptualisation of a sudoku puzzle? no.
began as usual:

6 4 1 2 3 7 9 5 8
3 5 2 8 6 9 1 7 4
9 7 8 1 4 5 2 3 6
8 3 4 9 7 1 6 2 5
5 6 9 4 2 3 8 1 7
1 2 7 5 8 6 4 9 3
7 1 5 6 9 4 3 8 2
4 8 3 7 1 2 ι Δ ε
2 9 6 3 5 8 7 α 1  (ι = 5, Δ = 6, ε = 9
                           and α = 4 -
total? 24, the number of letters
in the greek alphabet,
as there are, hours in the day:
no wonder people back then
conjured up a "year 0" -
which actually makes the modern
day stoners, looks extremely
lazy when it comes to whacky
ideas);

but that gave me the idea of trying
another interpretation of this
japanese phone-book...

  how about morse code? to visualise
things... and how the numbers
lodge themselves in the 9 x 9 x 9 (729) box...
i see this 2D puzzle as 3D, oops...
so it came about - yielding the pen and
original zenith of concept, the hashtag (#)...
   (algebraic for end pin-point + insertion):

1a. | | − x
   1b. − − | y

     2a. − − y
   2b. | | x

     3a. − | x
   3b. |  − y

4a. □ − |
4b. □ | −
  4c. □ | |
4d. □ − −

  which begs the question...
    why would you need to invent braille...
if you already had the morse code?
  
at certain events people are competing
in spelling matches... so...
isn't the morse code a lot easier than
braille?! eh?!

i mean, god really is playing chess,
when he's reading braille...

−− −−− ·−· ··· · | ·· ··· | · ·− ··· ·· · ·−· |
− ···· ·− −· | −··· ·−· ·· ·−·· ·−·· ·

       don't you think?
and to think: a drunkard conjured this up;
ah... smoke 'em while ye got 'em.

some words go US Eng, some go UK Eng
so inside the word-dividing "[ ]" is the chosen sound

KIND OF A WA[ɔ]LKING...
EMITTER OF ENDORPHINS
INNER-LIGHT-EVOKING
VAU[ɔ]LT WITH
A FORMi̲DABLY ENORMOUS
INFINITELY RISING RESERVE OF
THRILLINGLY PO[ɑ]SITIVE EMOTIONS (wa[ɒ]nt some?)
THE EPITOME OF DELIGHT & ENJOYMENT
——————————————————————————
strolling through some au[ɔ]tumn spo[ɑ]ts
sa[ɔ]w some gyals
being dolorous
stole up o[ɒ]n 'em
once I'm close enough
I'm exploding
with that mind-blowing stuff
I've noted 'bove
ba[ɔ]wling "lit morning, quit mourning"
so ear-splittingly like my ba[ɔ]lls just go[ɑ]t
torn apart
they, seemed to me, were in
total sho[ɑ]ck
unloading, giving 'em a[ɔ]ll I've go[ɑ]t
which got 'em a little overpa[ɑ]cked
each of 'em got a lethal cor atta[ɑ]ck
overdosed, they dro[ɑ]pped
on the ground like ja[ɔ]ws of cha[ɑ]ps
at the sight of girls with bo[ɑ]ds
that are smoking **[ɑ]t
——————————————————————————
ALSO, TRULY HOPEFUL
BORN WITH LO[ɑ]TS
OF OFFERS OF EMPLOYMENT
IN TERMS OF MOVING FORWARD
THE MOTION'S NOTHING LESS THAN HURTLING
ALWAYS, EVERY MOMENT
MAINTAIN THE FIRST PLACE
IN A LIST OF POTENTIAL BOYFRIENDS
FOR GIRLS THAT
ARE INDECENTLY GORGEOUS
AND UNBELIEVABLY JOYOUS
lyrically, these word-co[ɑ]mbs
come close to what a ***** does
performing a blowjo[ɑ]b
[once was told that I have 0 SELF-IRONY]

I didn't feel it at first
Which isn't very strange
For your words to cause this effect on me
And give me such a pain

"This isn't working out"
"I'm very sorry," you said
Is all I can think about
Making me feel dead

It's very hard for me
To think about your face
Your very beautiful eyes
That made me freeze in place

I guess it's my fault
Yeah I know it's true
If I had spoken up some more
I'd still be with you

You were my boyfriend
My very first at that
If I keep feeling this pain
I'll have a heart atta--

The lizard speaks a word of warning to the fly at midnight:
"Quit your hovering my friend. Come now and take a respite
from your restless swooshing' round those porcelain plates, delightful.
The ****-sapiens aren't kind and they'll never invite you."

"You'll never sample one small taste of all their scrumptious morsels.
Much less get your belly filled before the swatter scores you.
The old **** in the tie-dye wields it skillfully like zen.
If he was even half as good at playing guitar, I'd listen."

But now I do not wish to bore you with restrictive wisdom.
Besides it's getting rather late and I've just had a vision.
I've seen that through your myriad eyes, one meal is just like ten.
So shut them tightly now and we will play at make pretend."

Envision yourself on that steak, just lapping up the juices.
Get to work efficiently and chew it rather ruthless.
Atta boy!, just keep it going, you are almost through.
Now we'll play another game. It's called, I'm eating you."

Lorraine Hansberry
Was a woman out of time

Borges paddled around
Some circular Ruins

The kin of atta are waiting
For you and me

Think it, dream it, be it
The left hand of darkness

A lathe of heaven
Forging something better