Message started humming, and the Knights stared in bewilderment too.
Lady of the Night asked, What are you doing, and Message I am singing the Nike chant to you.
Drozen is dead and that is the ultimate good, because his body now reeks in fire- victory.
Breastplate Bearer said, So tell me how did you come about the Imperial Candicacy.
Message took a deep breath and said, Well me and Drent stepped forward, and others at the Wisebeing Assembly because to rule was on our lips.
Then the Advocate- Counsel spoke up to our shock, You will all fight for this sacred Dahomeyian Rulership.
Drent and I look at each other in disbelief, I whispered to myself, how could I slay my brother.
My father who held the Dahomeyian Rulership put his head in his hands, but I could not see my mother.

Then Drent interrupted me to say, He had to defend his Rulership that was bankrupted and abused.
Message retorted, You forgot he had the Treasuryist arrested and killed on no charge.
You loved him as our father but my keen perception saw through the familial mirage.
Begin, the Battlefare Grader, as they fought each other to be an Imperial Candidate.
This struggle was about getting the Dahomeyian Rulership, it was not about hate.
Finally I and Drent were the last ones standing after all the bloodshed, Drent was too weak to make a fist.
I cried out to the Battlefare Grader with tears streaming down my eyes, I cannot **** for this.
The Advocate- Counsel curtly said, Either he dies or you do, The Dahomeyian Rulership is worth the risk.
I lifted my weapon and staggered under its newfound heaviness, poised to take the life of mine own sibling.
Stop, Message, STOP!, called out my father, from his entrapment on the Lexicon Podium in desperate pleading.

You do not hold the Dahomeyian Rulership anymore, the Advocate-Counsel said with a frown.
My father yelled back, I will not stand to see you destroy the Dahomeyian Royal Family, my sacred bloodline, for a mere Rulership crown!
I put forth an Intervention Amendment, and I choose Message and Drent as Imperial Candidates to proceed.
The Advocate General said, Very well, this is a good resolution so no one else has to bleed.
So I and Drent stepped forward, and the Flaretine Scholar was writing feverishly with his pen.
I had no idea who would win the Dahomeyian Rulership, me or Drent.
I had forgotten about Drozen, he must have left to gather mercenaries.
Both me and Drent went down with one hand on the floor and us in the Coronation Stance on bended knee.
The Advocate General scolded me saying, Your Coronation Stance is off, you should have your foot more forward and stop shaking.
I was still shook I almost killed Drent, and that my father who held the Dahomeyian Rulership was forsaken.

Drozen came to interrupt the proceedings, and snatched us away before I could hear the Coronation Verdict.
I could see the Diablo-Robots my mother told me about at bedtime, and their presence made me sick.
After Drozen pushed the Damocles Stone, I screamed in horror until I could not cry.
Then I vowed I would do whatever it takes, so that Drozen would be dead by I
I can still feel my father’s presence with me, although I cannot explain why
I hope my father is still alive, so we can rehabilitate his name with a Downtrodden Argument
What was your father’s name, asked Lady of the Night, and Message replied sobbing, His Dahomeyian Leadership name is the Legate.

The heavy smoke of war lay across the world it was laced with carnage and had the sounds of screaming
Shells and the screams of the dying men but as it continued its drift at the far edges a cloud and mist
Began to diminish the former and distil a brighter future there was the timid glory sounding the
Harking tribute of childlike memories the power of innocence to diffuse the base and inhumane
To spill across these scathing pages an ethereal presence that was empowering of good that
Could and did straddle time and space with magnificence drawing from exploration and history
That beheld the worst but mined the hidden gold to enrich the world it knew secrets that
Exposed the damnable lies that bankrupted former empires we were created to be conquers
Our mettle is an amalgamation of weak flesh but inherit in the confused and reciprocating
Action ultimately a flash of inspiration leaps from the spirit the dead end near sighted flesh was
At the wall of limitation now we stand at the zenith of the universe at its ever increasing of it
Self this inestimable spring of well being floods the low plains we ford these rich waters
Immediately our impoverished cares taste and smell the high and great call of hope we
Instinctively open our heart and mind as a great sail we find our self in the envious position as a
Seafarer our very sinew is awakened to promise and opportunity we have left far behind the
Naysayers we see gifts of beauty spread everywhere where all before was drear now victory is
Courting us to rise to even higher heights boldness infuses our demeanor we now throw off
Yesterdays doubting with eyes that are no longer dim we see with clearest vision and with
Steeled determination former days of being wistful vagabonds is forever forfeited we have the
Right and the might that Lincoln addressed his generation we align ourselves with the high
Ideals of past warriors and martyrs know this our enemies whatever your culture or ideals you
Have come among a stalwart people and the foundations of our forefathers will defeat you the
Same as others who came with inferior and demonized religions know this truth will and has
Made us free look well to yourselves continue and your destruction is guaranteed check the
Harbinger winds and save your selves from the only outcome that will befall you which is
Destruction

symphony arrangement for poetry - personae distinctions of hidden violins and woodwinds, somewhere along the way brass - leaving Cabaret Voltaire (Zurich), moving to the Beat Hotel (9 Rue Gît-le-Cœur, Paris), ending up on the Cowgate (Edinburgh).

when you read newspapers you realise that dinosaurs roam
the land, the fortress of printing press, unlike the printing press
(which was taken seriously from the word go!)
the internet has been largely squandered; you read these
things in newspapers, the evolutionary reaction - ensuring that
among these dinosaurs are also opinion pieces, dinosaurs write accounts of what's happening, batrachotoxin amphibians write
opinions: i.e. what isn't happening: opinions go forward unchecked
and undisputed, added that there are many potions in the cauldron
it's hard to pick one out and dig deeper until both parties are in no position to hold such and such opinion, given the missing
muscle of implementing change or the skeleton to keep
the status quo - but this is a slight deviation from what i
was intending to convey - the old guard of printing is worried
sick that it might be usurped in the long run - it prints damaging
reports about the existence of the internet, looking at it as not
a niche environment, which it technically is - but cats, ****, cats,
****, apparently we all log on to meow and moan -
as a tool of entertainment it's the least thrilling source of
the desired "entertainment", the unscripted nature of this niche environment is what's actually good about it, in that a single
person can become both writer, editor and publisher -
but indeed, the internet has been squandered,
although it improved from what used to be a wholly anonymous
environment peppered with dangers of random encounters -
the infamous chat rooms changed even more to infamous
phone-books: you heard it, stories of cyber bullying - the internet
has been squandered, by all means, trying to save it is a bit like
trying to save the world, or as one Tao principle suggested to me
early on forged in me: the best way you can aid the world
is to forget the world, and let the world forget you.
a film director would say, well, i'm stuck in the house,
i'm thinking of shooting a biopic of Lawrence of Arabia...
i see a desert, a man riding a camel through it...
but you have to then start muling over the facts: you'll have to get funding, get the casting right,  but no one likes shooting in
the desert, you have to get  the catering sorted, you start shooting,
but the camera track ruins the desert, so you have to move
to another part of the desert that's pristine with wind parallel
ridges in the sand, then the studio calls you and says you're
spending too much money, then peter o'toole stumbles
out from the trailer hungover almost everyday; sure, you need inspiration and ideas, but that's only 1% or the whole,
99% is working with people - as a director you're not actually
playing god, you're helping other people, De Niro preferred
mumbling something prior to a scene, but Seymour Hoffman
went into a scene like a crocodile quickly snapping
to the shout of cut! and the clapperboard.
i suppose poetry could be like that too,
99% being the audience and the necessary oration,
that would work - unless of course you'd do the same with
painting - but whereas with painting you're invited to critical
thinking, see an artist next to his painting elaborating on
the themes and use of colours? i don't want to assert common sense
wisdom from one profession and apply the same wisdom
                                      to another with a trans-occupational
relativism: that red           is relative to               crimson -
              but we'll have to do away with lighting,
              darkening and what not, so yes,
red is relative to crimson insofar as we forget lighting
and Edward Hopper. anyone can appreciate the
lazy approach, but i took to some mammoths without the help
of audio books, a reasoning man, not a mob gob emotive conjurer worth a tonne of heckles and haggles - but i guess the dream
through this gamble would be the monetary reward...
you know... after so many years writing for peanuts i have lost
all appetite for spending money beyond what i consider
to be a workable cure for insomnia - i don't have to buy music
any more since i can stream it, i have more privacy without
a mobile phone, all i have is this little brick wall that's stationary
in this virtual jungle on which i scribble - with the radius from
this point being anything ranging from 1 to 6 sensible miles,
beyond 6 and we're talking blisters on feet; can you imagine what
our predecessors could endure in terms of walking? they had hoofs
instead of feet, while we have skin as smooth as a baby's buttock
cheeks on the soles of our feet. the strangeness of modernity:
1. a man drives a car with with a bicycle on the roof, just so he can    
    peddle down a scenic route...
2. the volume of skimmed milk bottle is the same as full fat milk,
    but if you bought full fat milk and added water to it the volume
    would triple (via semi, so yes, triple)...
3. healthy diets - 350% increase in vegan population
   in Britain over the past 10 years - the protein problem
   (once it was the fat problem, low fat yoghurt came about,
    turned everything into a sugar problem), i.e. women aged
    between 19 & 24 requiring to hit the 58 gram daily
    recommendation of protein would have to eat:

everyday foods
chicken breast (251g = 276Kcal)
eggs x4 (460g = 658Kcal)
salmon fillet (291g = 533Kcal)                                 v.

clean-eating foods
quinoa (1,318g = 1,582Kcal)
chia seeds (371g = 1,818Kcal)
                              goji berries (405g = 1,504Kcal)
                              kimchi (3,222g = 863Kcal)
                              tofu (707g = 70Kcal)
                              ******* (384g = 632Kcal)
                              coconut yoghurt (3,422g = 6,844Kcal)
almond milk (14,500ml = 3,625Kcal)
avocado (2,900g = 4,843Kcal)

  as healthy as stuffing turkeys for Thanksgiving, can you imagine
  drinking fourteen, fourteen litres of almond milk?! i don't even
  have to imagine drinking 700ml of whiskey to get the point
  and reach the threshold of the effectiveness of sleeping pills...
  no alcohol, no sleeping pills, better sit it out than take so near  
  ineffective buggers; although as a warning: you might end up
  sleeping for *12 hours - variations on the BMI and previous habits
  of drinking - socially? not so much, medically? primarily -
  not in favour of the anti-alcohol lobby being part of the "safety"  
  guidelines given to the public...
4. charities' costs eat up 78% of donations,
    another 21st century anomaly, effectively dismissed
    by the church's alms giving history depicted in Sistine opulence,
    so no wonder whether in cardinal robes or suited and booted for
    the near-invisible secular religiosity, such poverty of symbolism
    compared with the predecessors, at least back then you'd
    know who to send to the guillotine - and this is how Louis XIV
    treated his courtesans, he made a certain type of clothing
    mandatory, a Versailles school uniform as it were,
    most the the courtesans went bankrupt having to buy the
    clothes, some pieces would be equivalent of a sports car,
    they went bankrupt to remain in the club,
    so they borrowed monkey from Louis, and so Louis kept
    them in his pocket: poor rich people, or necessary
    leeches (as once used in medicine, Louis' absolutism
    being the sole malady, abuse of power necessitates
    paranoia); or to quote Lisolette about the royal *******
    'mouse droppings in pepper.' Philippe (Duc d'Orléans)
    was the transvestite who charged into battle
    and conquered the Dutch, much to his brother's
    shame at having only made conquests in the bed - well
money here, money there, shoving a piano into a concert hall accompanied by an orchestra, something Chopin would never
do not wishing to leave the comforts of salons - although
Metallica dared to.
                                                             ­           welcome to
the age of silica and chameleons (cha cha cha champ a camcorder anyone? well, imagine what scrutiny Narcissus would pay a photograph, imagine giving a photograph to Narcissus and
wonder would he change his behaviour), get fooled by
the adverts once, second time you'll eventually see needing to feed
a charity's bureaucracy rather than an African, hence the migrant
                                                                                                    crisis...
sometimes there are no surprises as to where certain things
originate, Marxism and England, zenith of the empire,
or as historians claim, the decadence of the Romans was their fascination with food prior to the end: ready-meals and
microwaves among cooking shows, currently the daily program
of channels, esp. that of 4 is culinary and horse racing,
all the interesting programs are broadcast when everyone
is about to fall asleep... Saville bankrupted the B.B.C.
posthumously: a game show, "jackpot" of one grand.
- advertisement didn't expect live T.V., the mute button,
the pause button and the fast forward button...
but in a 100 years time if not more they'll look back at us as
having finally exhausted Groundhog Day (starring Bill Murray) -
sure, the technological breakthroughs were great, magical,
but the content? 20th century most probably,
the ideal time of fluid and at ease plagiarism - obviously
exceptions were made, but this walking nightmare
of the exhausted second half of the 20th century caught up
in the 21st century - dialogue replaced by visuals,
clash of the titans (1981) v. clash of the titans (2010) -
the only good bit of the latter is the inclusion of Hades -
it's beautiful, i'm nostalgic to a history i was born in and
belonged to, i'm not a nostalgic Nietzsche or Hölderlin
bumming about singing praises of the Ancient Greeks -
you see, it's close-at-heart nostalgia because i belonged to it,
the infant of it - a peculiar circumstance to be in; or coming
to terms with the first signs of decay: cartoon network's
cow & chicken with i r baboon - have you seen the horrors
of modern cartoons compared with computer graphics?
readies them to  pick up gaming soon after,
given gaming graphics. in summary - some say sitting behind
a computer screen is a sign of a lack of self-assurance,
or confidence, self- anything you want to suffix with, well,
that could be true, but you have a photograph included,
and the days of the typewriter are over - but i could also say
the same about certain brands or shops, are they too lacking
self-confidence to stop their existence on  the high street?
the royal mail delivers junk, you might get 100 junk envelopes
and a christmas  card... o.k. make that 1000 to 10,000 envelopes
of junk and one letter directly addressing you that hasn't been
written using an analogue like

dear mr. / mrs. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

we would like to inform you that your insurance
claim has expired.            etc.

the infancy of this century is what's deceptive, the greatest
deception i can think of - the great health scares and subsequent
over-usage of antibiotics breeding super-bugs in hospitals
anything and everything under the sun - including
that damnable idea that the planet Mars employs people whom
it's attracting into its orbit - earthly geologists must be bewildered
that the only subject of learning from all of man's
capacity to send into space is geology: and on the return flight
home we realised that we'd only be bringing back some arenite
(sandstone); that quote about about painting being 50 years
ahead of writing, the same is true with science fiction and
actual science.

Suffocation; the torture of life without breath
Debt; the torture of being trapped without way of getting out

We signed away our souls and our very livelihoods
So that we might find treasures deep into the earth
In vain we gave ourselves to this cause
We became bankrupted and we became slaves to our toil
We inhaled our work and it poisoned our bodies
We owed our souls to the company for which we worked

We dig deep into the earth
In search of ancient treasures formed long long ago
Seeking to find riches beyond belief and beyond compare
Beginning a noble crusade for good things
But then continuing on to become a misadventure where there is little redemption
Oh what an ignorant odyssey we had begun!

In a manmade cavern, we dig for riches
Our faces becoming covered with black soot
As we invest into the dreams of the treasures for which we dig
And yet then further and further falling into debt
Until we are not only suffocated merely by the soot of coal but also by our debts
And as if the danger of this mine were not enough before the the mines began to fall onto our very heads

We toil for years upon years in this dark mine of coal
Losing all we knew and all we were for the sake of unsatisfying treasure
Our friends die day after day suffocated by the matter of our toil
We inhale our work and our lungs become so filled and poisoned with the soot of the coal
Many could no longer breathe or bear the pain of the poison in their lungs
And then they die in the depths of the dark caves searching for treasure in vain

Not knowing we had signed a death wish
To toil deep into the depths of the mantle of the earth searching for forsaken treasure
Believing that we were searching for good things
That we truly were in the midst of a noble crusade
Not even knowing of the reality in which we stood
That there truly was a terrible hell in which we were living

To this point we knew not of the soot slowly suffocating our lungs
And we knew not of the blood pouring out of our wounds
We knew not of the utter blackness that covered our faces
Or that no oxygen flowed to our ever so needy lungs
We knew only of the importance of our mission
And the necessity to find the treasures for which we were sent out

But the reality of this deep and dark quarry was a hell never before known
And the unknown need of fresh air was as heavy as a newborns need for his mother's milk
Yet we knew not of the need for fresh air
For our eyes were set on the prize
To mine the treasure for which we had so long toiled
And we forgot of our need to live and seek good things

Not knowing the depths of our manmade cavern and our lostness
Our faces so covered with dried soot and blood
Longing for new air to freshen our dying lungs
And longing for Holy Water to wash clean our coal-filled and coal-covered bodies
Yet we knew not any of this
And we knew not of the depths of our pain and our suffering

Yet then one day we break through the surface of the earth
We see the light of the sun, and we see good things
The light of day shines onto us
And a cool breeze blows onto our faces
Then we take a collective breath of the new air
A breath of fresh air more satisfying than a thousand breaths in the depths of the horrid coal mine

We see something we had not seen in years, freedom
And as our eyes set upon the world which we had nearly forgotten
We see the beauty that we had indeed forgotten
We realize the hell that we had clearly been enduring
And in a moment it all becomes clearer than ever before
The treasure of the coal mine had so deceived our hearts and our judgement and our very sanity

For we knew not of the depth and gravity of the terror of the hell we were in
We thought we were simply searching for gold, but we had truly sold our souls
Digging deep into the depths of the planet toward the core
And we lost ourselves in the darkness and depravity of the shaft
Suffering in blindness and lostness, unable to find any good things
Until finally we found the Light from above

Our debts had been cleared and our bodies had been made new
How sweet the wind was upon our sweaty, soot-covered, bloodied faces as we emerged from the cave
And then we were washed clean of all of our pain and suffering
The blood was washed from our faces, and our wounds were healed
The soot from the thick coal was scrubbed from our flesh, and our poisoned lungs were healed
And we were freed from the terror of our suffering

For out of the depths of the earth with squinted eyes and limp limbs
We emerged into great Light never before seen
And as our eyes adjusted, so did our understanding
The understanding of just how lost we had been
And just how close to death we came with each and every day
But the breath of fresh air, and the sight of new light resurrected us

From the great horror of our past we were healed
And from our ever-growing debts we had been released
We were freed from our self-imprisonment and given new life
And not on our own accord in the slightest
But by the great love of Christ Jesus
For Jesus is our great deliverer

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

It’s not enough for you
To have gold water faucets,
Crystal mirrors everywhere
And marble floors in closets
Now you want to play at
Being a savvy politician
Stands for Christian principles
From the *******.

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.

With a changing cast of women
You call your lawful wives.
And you’re the one who wants
To control our very lives?
You utter your vituperation
At poor and the non-Christian.
Is having the world hate you
Part of your final mission?

If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

You also want control of
Our country’s financial hopes.
If we fall for that stupid tale
Then we are a nation of dopes
Because you have bankrupted
More than the Monopoly game
Would allow a toddler to have
And that is quite a shame.

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

No, Mr. T **** please do
What is proper and fitting;
Call up the press and say
That you are finally quitting.
Tell them you were just testing
To see what the others would do.
So, kiss our collective ***** goodbye
And take with you that dumb hairdo.

.





We stand fast
against the tyranny.
They will never see
the livin' fear in me.

They've noted all our motives,
and took down all our names.
They stripped away our freedom
as Washington was going up in flames.

They took away our pistols,
every thing we could afford.
Then they bankrupted Chevy,
from schools, they banned the Lord.

Guitar Hero,
revolution;
out of gas, now
what's the solution?

The raising of taxes gets
preached to the choir.
The pews will smolder
with martyrs on fire.

AT&T; towers loom on the horizon.
Start a revolution on your Verizon.
We'll succumb to flame, never the plow.
I've one question, "Can you hear me now?"






.

They say.
I don't smile like I use too.
This isn't the first time someone said it.

Someone stated I look down.
Some trace it to you not being around.
And they're not far from the truth.

My hapinness ended the moment I lost you.

Yes, I laugh.
Sure, I smile.
It's just a facade hiding hurt.
Since you're no longer around.

Like the stock market that crashed.
So did my world of happiness.

Your love was my invested.
And now without you.
I'm bankrupted.
And money wasn't involved.

Friends all know.
My happiness ended when I lost you.

They try to cheer me up.
Except it's no good.
They try to take me out.
It doesn't accomplish what they wanted.

Cause my world of happiness ended when I lost you.

I drew ace nine as hold cards
So, as the raises increased at
two hundred dollar increments
I did not mind
I put it in

Then someone went all-in
and
suddenly my hold cards
became
very weak
and I folded

Now lets apply this strategy to the
current situation
Here in the USA

We are in several wars right now that
have bankrupted us
That is what wars do
"war is used to create debt"  ezra pound

World Wars cost us
Korea cost us
'Nam cost us
even the wars that were secret cost us

But, just because we spent trillions of dollars
Does not mean we have to spend trillions more

i mentioned it before, lost the 2nd volume
of the critique of pure reason
for about a year...
resorted to claiming the the end of the cantos,
and i did, at one point i was subconscious
imitating Ezra, it wasn't on purpose,
the cantos just rubbed against me like
a perverted mongrel dog ******* my leg,
i swear to got that happened to me, once,
tried to kick the ****** off my leg,
but he wrapped his front paws around my leg
and started *******, i was a about 7 or 8,
so if you're talking abuse... i was abused
by a dog... but i laughed at his attempts to
get satisfied... anyway... this afternoon,
started rereading the critique..
first thing that hit me was how i haven't been
reading prose, of whatever nature...
poetry has no claustrophobia, prose is riddled
with it... the way you have to strain your eyes
and scrutinise... the way you sometimes
lose the plot not because you're not understanding
what's being said, but because everything is
so tightly packed that sometimes to skid off
the narrative road and end up on a different line...
but after Kant completes his fourth antinomy
**** turns into a fudge bog of dialectical stink...
this afternoon it ended up being a 50 page
marathon (which is pretty good in one sitting)...
and let me tell you, reading philosophy can be
like entering the army, there's this need
for patience as if it were obedience,
and with philosophy you get the chance to become
rigorous... read one philosophy book
from the godfathers, and i promise you, you will
finish Don Quixote, or James Joyce's Ulysses...
you will... for 50 pages after leaving the
thesis parallel antithesis section of the 2nd volume
Kant launched into the fundamentals of
space & time (abhorring) in terms of regression...
but i've noticed the game they're playing
those philosophers... they're purposively avoiding
a certain pronoun usage, the existential movement
went as far as to ditto the i... in orde that
psychologists could work on the ego in abstract form
mediating a non-existent person using
the universal applicability and the particular applicability
ref. point of someone being studied;
Kant is the precursor of how this one pronoun use has
to be avoided to write philosophy, imagine it as
a novel, written philosophy is pure narration
that attempts to expel the narrator, even though there
is narrator, and there are no characters in philosophical
prose because the philosopher is inflecting the lost
first-person into a multitude of how problems are
to be addressed in abstract... he speaks of the indivisible
presence: the ego mediating both thought
and the soul, with the former activated by thinking,
the latter by odd-behaviour... anyway...
key phrases of note from the 50 pages:
it's basically about regression, the contrast of
phrasing in versus, how mathematicians would
have encompass regression in the phrasing
progressus in infinitum while philosophers
(noun sharpeners) would rather state
progressus in indefinitum, yes, it is really
a case of pedantry, but a pedantry that arose when
words became more and more ambiguous
or were no longer specifically one-dimensional,
and like a woman's womb with triplets were
given several meanings, or elasticity, for no one's
benefit other than for politics, and our current
political movement: that one about childish pranks
and even more childish denials.
the distinction in this case rests upon a choice,
within the framework of in infinitum is that
you must continue writing a sequence
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7...  1034... 90754... to see infinity,
the elusive variant ad infinitum was missing
in Kant's argument, but i guess both are mediums worth
assembling as literally impossible to mind
considering in indefinitum... as in indefinitely...
infinity is definite, but the process by which you
define it is not necessarily worth defining...
you may choose to do so, but not necessarily.
yet he's applying this to regression, so it's about
the distance of cared for interpretation between
the interests of Darwinism                 the Big Bang Theory
        and major religious events...
or if you're American concern for the founding fathers'
genius in crating a constitution...
how far back will you go to make a modern standpoint
relevant to how you want to shape current affairs?
i mean, i can cite you quantum continuum
about how this principle is concerned with filling space,
i mean there's so much here, but you pay it
with a hefty price, yet even if you don't understand it,
such works train you to be a non-defeatist
when it comes to lighter works you probably like
reading... i know there's a necessary need to understand,
but strain yourself on a philosophy book
and the oeuvre of Balzac or Dickens awaits you
like a spring-time breeze in lightness...
and out of concern for your eyes...
the reason they packed it to feel stuffy and claustrophobic,
well back in the day printing books was expensive,
you had to write tightly, almost like the small-print
legal restrictions in whatever it is you're using...
poetry wasn't popular because it wasn't considered
economically viable... the digital age and
social media changed that (even though it's not
taken seriously), because it will be some time before
people realise that:
y                                      o                   ­                  u

             d                   o                         n
                                                               ­             't

                 n           e                             c        e           s
s                   a                 r        i              l                               y

h               a
                                             v                           e
t
                           o
                                                               ­                 w
                                              ­                                   r
                                                               ­                  i
                                                               ­                  t
                                                               ­                  e

like that to get emphasis across,
you're just lucky to be using a pixel medium...
and even so... we're not saving the Amazonian rainforest,
sure we've bankrupted paper, and this allows
us to really write poetry pixels, because no
capitalist would be crazy enough to invest in such
p

                          r
                             ­                i
                                                              
                                                                ­   n
              
                                                                ­                        t;
unless he was printing it on toilet paper.

And then there was slow,
the falling of dandruff like snow and it's tough,I am
taking the rough with the smooth or taking a ticket for the suicide booth,can't decide if I should get the return trip or just ride.
And then there was slow,
it's like you know where you're at but don't know where to go,so
you put on a show and it folds the first night,
bankrupted,disgusted,
you walk,
talking with crows in the slow.

About a year ago, before the candidates were in the running.  The headlines read "Hillary defeats Satan."  I , at the time, could not understand this.  "How could this be?"  I questioned myself.  After all, wasn't she the one that handed over the POTUS position to a muslim/socialist?  And wasn't she caught with a truckload of articles that belonged to the United States when she moved out of the White House?  Yet, some women groups still believe she is the right person to steal the office.  (Remember Dickandbush, no one voted for them either. Remember?  REMEMBER?)  The Presidency is not a position that is voted by the people anymore and hasn't been decided by the public in a long, long time.  As a matter of fact, the whole election process is merely a choreographed dance or ******* if you will.

  Now to the matter of topic.  How she does it.  First she gets a crazy old man who preaches socialism is the answer to be her opponent.  Is any one in their right mind going to believe that socialism belongs anywhere on THIS PLANET!  Listen friend, if it didn't work for the Russians and the USSR then how in the hell do you think it would work here.  Some one PLEASE purchase a one-way ticket to China for Bernie boy or maybe send him to Mars.  Maybe it could work there. Okay?  She has the Democratic ticket.  In like Flint.

  Now the other side,  the Republicans had so many choices and only one of them had the nads to challenge the SUPER-PACS.   (You remember those nice scumbags that pay politicians so much money to destroy the country that they (the politicians) just have to take it.  Let's see, there once at the time was about eighteen of them.  And not one of them could match the evil wits of Satan.  I really believed at one time that he DID have a chance to beat thunder-thighs.  Then he did this.  First he stated that he was good friends with Hillary and has known her for a very long time.  Then, he did the unthinkable.  He hired the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to tag along with him.  You remember him.  Don't you?  The guy who not only single-handedly bankrupted an entire city.  But, also gave the State of New Jersey a $384 BILLION deficit.  Great choice Donald.  Why don't you just meet Hillary in a motel for three days and you can be the next leader in about eight years or so.

  The other Republican hopefuls were 1.  Pretty Boy (he could get the eighteen year old vote but, that's about all.)  2.  *****-Nilly (just not leadership material.)  3.  BUSH? 4.  Some guy whose name sounds like a ****** disease.  5.  The Penguin, or as he put it Dracula. And other fiends of Hillary.

Sorry Folks,

The fix was in from the get go.
It's in the bag.

Let's just hope that thunder-thighs doesn't squeeze us too hard.


Oh, just one last thing.  If we limit terms in the Senate, Congress, and most importantly Supreme Court.  Then, and only then will we have an uncorrupted government.  You can thank me later.

A Poet

My unrelenting guardian of the years,
to claw the scales of blindness from my eyes
won't spare the consequences of my fears.

Bankrupted soul, emotional arrears
will send me seeking you in anguished cry,
my unrelenting guardian of the years.

Removing self from lover's touch come near,
avoiding agony of being passed by
won't spare the consequences of my fears.

A draught of venom cloaked as cup that cheers
is snatched away before I drink it dry
by unrelenting guardian of the years.

The flaying of my own back, copious tears,
repeated penances all gone awry
won't spare the consequences of my fears.

When called upon for strength, he will appear;
should I refuse the help, he'll let me lie.
My unrelenting guardian of the years
won't spare the consequences of my fears.

oh god, how could i forget, the year was sometime in
the 1990s, en vogue released their debut single:
don't let go...
fell in love with it...
                as truant i say true:
before the **** impregnated
the white boy economy,
                 i made it to university on
two thousand and a spare allowance,
studying chemistry you get the hours,
**** knows the humanities...
any self-respecting humanities
student learns humanism the hard way:
psychiatry - not writing novels:
but doing social service - **** pay,
the man is happy,
happy girls of 12 month cycles
disillusioned suddenly by Papa Farmer
Heidegger - not really...
i could sneeze Hegel through my ***
and never get a **** from any
French philosopher's nostril:
born to ****, born to ostrich it...
and that's about as much as i'm avowed to hit...
it was the 1990s, the Poles were part
of the cultural shift including the world war
ii veterans, safety in west London,
then the kebabs came by,
and the kebabs fried the reputation,
they said: SO LI DA RI TY!
                  i remember being 9 at the time,
or whatever age suits the chronology,
en vogue was better than the prodigy,
the jilted revulsion to stagecraft,
Michael Jordan did more than Broccoli Adam
alias O,
                  silver back and the safety net of
philandering Clinton: let the white
boy eat ****... you let the white
boys do the annals and you the *******
to do the opposite of the Christian bypass:
let's the ***** experience it and rhetoric anti-gay
statements...
                       a  bit harsh, a bit too harsh mate...
you use the girl to manifesto anti-gay laws...
i wasn't born with **** stimulation,
but would i agree or disagree with it?
i wouldn't ask a girl to do **** with me...
me? too much pleasure from taking a ****,
who do you hang around with?
                           the Schnitzel Patriots?
but if there be  god i swear:
i decided to buy en vogue's single rather than
the album: music for the jilted generation...
then came about breathe when i
was discovering type o negative
             with the mortal kombat..
then i let gaming sorta sizzle, until i met a gamer
girl... no phobia... the status encouragement
said: read two books, play 33 video games...
1990's England... was it so different as it is today
or was it because i was a a kid born in the 1980's
seeing my first double deck bus aged 8 in 1994?
we never got the mafia Caribbean treatment
worthy of a carnival, i was never part of the Empire,
only a cause for war...
                 the truants moved to Scotland,
we got east London, or something resembling the east...
i loved the 1990s... the music esp.,
                                    well, that was then...
it ain't that anymore... back in the 1990s i'd
rather have listened to en vogue rather than
the spice girls' paedophilia chant
Savile's case bankrupted the b.b.c.,
   they're really trying, showing shows
from 2015 and earlier in 2014,
                                          they're broke!
broke little *******! and the chant is:
i thought she was administering consent with
that ***-selfie while i ****** off..
                i thought the age of consent was there
at the time, the age where you get to abuse
your own body...
      apparently that's slave talk: your body
isn't yours.
                     Huxley was a prophet in his own right,
but never mind the intricacies -
                 there weren't any...
she posts consent he posts shadow...
                    in the extremity of all possible laws:
we defend the defendants rights to an exclusion of conscience,
because, god-forgiving we only succumbed to the idea
of not thinking: i.e. we preferred the idea of god
managing us rather than the idea of thought...
    but it was nice in the 1990s, the brave few that made it...
then the serfs came when the Union expanded....
                         it really doesn't matter now...
apathy Regina, pathology Rex;
                                better fix the toilet
before the **** comes down alright...
                              as one half human potential said:
half of me would have made a quarter of the man
and woman involved in obstructing me teaching
in rhapsodies...
                                 oh well...
born a Glaswegian pauper, always a Glaswegian
pauper...
                       and sooner my fate among the karma
fate of words lost in Herr Censor,
              than me knocking on tombstones and saying:
your life?
                  i'm not that much interested, to be honest,
i care to remember what single c.d. i bought
in the 1990's rather than what could have ignited in
me a neo-socialist sense of community
coming from a communist society, undermined
by a society trying so hard to make the perfect advert;
what a load of *******!

This has happened before and it will happen again
A charlatan for affection
Becomes bankrupted and amazed
And meanders through dusk and dawn
Like a little lost boy

And his ambition and glory break
In harmony with the heart on his sleeve
Held together by bright longing
But he will wear one memory like a crown
For falling for the impossible

that was my pet name, a love's long lost word
of infuriating apathy against grey public passerby materials:
simply that: kakasha - or little ****, or mouse ****,
or rodent shrapnel - i guess me being a Pole
and she being a Russian would have never worked out -
i don't actually know what was expected of me, an English girl?
n'ah, wouldn't have worked with the master slave antics -
a Polish girl? **** me, no! well, it just ended up being
a love for the people... which is a lot and nothing at all
come to think of it... whenever i said Cyrillic
was the new Greek i was right... shame though,
i could have had a marriage correct my deviant bachelor years...
i would't have written anything at all...
and it would all seem like the perfection of life: problem here,
problem there... but that's all i remember
from the days when youth allowed  my body to be buff and me
staging  a dumb way out of having a body of a model,
but hardly the vacancy to accept it... god it takes such a
large chunk of manoeuvring a Zeppelin
to land a paper aeroplane equivalent -
               i just didn't have the vacancy
to keep at the gym routine...
         went back to the bloated lamb belly,
and felt all the better for it....
                 starting drinking professionally -
because soberness was  a bit of wasteland -
nice name, that lover's pet name: kakasha:
or little ****, or mice pebbles, don't you think?
sometimes that's what's needed to
strengthen the memory, when memory
overpowers imagination,
it's not a case of lingering on the past,
utilise phonetic encoding well enough
and the symbols reveal a lacking need to
move forward and take into consideration
triangles and squares...
          images...
      you just forget about the future...
you're not stuck in the past,
        it's just about how everything's encoded
and where you place your primers -
        but of course i'm not nostalgic
as in hoping for a revision or a revival:
i just mean: it actually happened,
i can't reverse it from having happened -
what i can do is treat memory as the most
private event of cinematography -
nothing the forward looking imagination
might breed - what imagination lacks is the
fact that symbols can't change... they remain
intact... all imagination can do
is use the same symbols of encoding that
memory otherwise decodes, unravels and
makes desecration of... imagination is politically
correct by comparison... memory really does
become the perfect cinema, provided there's
a life worthy of cinema, however simple...
i know i bankrupted on imaging things as
they'll never be... but memory?
i already knew they happened - hence
the counter-imaginative response:
memory, alter-cinema -
                     which, in another framework of
sentences is a second rebellion,
counter teeny winy annie mo - of how they
framework educational models,
stuffing our imagination with fall-safe mechanisation
of know techniques: akin to arithmetic -
and how we were taught to remember what
would readily become forgotten come the next year...
                   of what i understand:
i think             i imagine                 i remember
                   precipitates into           being
                     - thus the three prime faculties
  and akin to the rules of prime numbers:
               no positive divisor greater than 1 or the
           stated faculty per se-
      later she slanders me with the nouns schizoid
and autistic: because we didn't have the picnic
  and didn't raise a family... a lonely world indeed.
i feel: and indeed the many loves, and failings of
    the heart's housekeeping standards -
             after that it just becomes a guess-work
   pattern of competition and incompetence -
                    or how language can become anti-journalistic,
  as it often does, it never is a scenario of
             Wednesday, 6th of July 2016 a.d.
                                        and credits akin to a movie:
             like you'll never talk to the background of things
and the people who move them while you pay the tax.
right now i have a 9kg Maine **** cat trying to
escape the house during the night, a cat turned
Pavarotti - meow meow, meow ******* meow,
meow meow... Lombroso should be near... this
is really starting to bug me... he might have a case
about a cat that never shut up and the person that
strangled it...
               so, indeed, three basic faculties of the mind...
i kept them as: imagination, thinking, memorisation...
                which means i went against the
Cartesian model of denial thought and doubt -
because i found them too emotionally entwined,
and therefore less puritan in consideration -
            and also less scholastic by the looks of it -
exams...                     for me the three prime
faculties are imagination, thought and memory...
they're antidotes of what later became the existential
revision of the Cartesian inspection: how
                              namely the notion of denial
as the antidote to good faith (doubt) - i just didn't
like the kindergarten of adults playing childish games.

When the brothers K. are in
a knife fight in
their own house, we
tend to stay away.

But what if
their struggles spills,
knocking over A. lamp?
A jinn smoke signals the sky,
and a fire catches, spills.

These are row houses, built
side-by-side with adjacent thin walls
and a shared inner courtyard.

Are we ready to douse
the flames? Can we risk
the community?

In the end, we bury
chard remains, blacken flesh
because the only thing left
will be chipped bone,
and broken blade.

We bandage
an orphaned Daughter,
and steady the vacant stare
of a wobbly Son.

There is nothing we can do
for the Brothers k. It's too late
to separate them now.

Maybe if we give them guns,
the killing suicide will be faster
this thing over easier,
and the Community
razed sooner.

No. I don't need Mom's
accusatory glances, nor
Father's displaced fury.

I am morally bankrupted
and save only the house
because the family is messy,
and cheap like all families.

Remember this one?

About a year ago, before the candidates were in the running. The headlines read "Hillary defeats Satan." I , at the time, could not understand this. "How could this be?" I questioned myself. After all, wasn't she the one that handed over the POTUS position to a muslim/socialist? And wasn't she caught with a truckload of articles that belonged to the United States when she moved out of the White House? Yet, some women groups still believe she is the right person to steal the office. (Remember Dickandbush, no one voted for them either. Remember? REMEMBER?) The Presidency is not a position that is voted by the people anymore and hasn't been decided by the public in a long, long time. As a matter of fact, the whole election process is merely a choreographed dance or ******* if you will.

Now to the matter of topic. How she does it. First she gets a crazy old man who preaches socialism is the answer to be her opponent. Is any one in their right mind going to believe that socialism belongs anywhere on THIS PLANET! Listen friend, if it didn't work for the Russians and the USSR then how in the hell do you think it would work here. Some one PLEASE purchase a one-way ticket to China for Bernie boy or maybe send him to Mars. Maybe it could work there. Okay? She has the Democratic ticket. In like Flint.

Now the other side, the Republicans had so many choices and only one of them had the nads to challenge the SUPER-PACS. (You remember those nice scumbags that pay politicians so much money to destroy the country that they (the politicians) just have to take it. Let's see, there once at the time was about eighteen of them. And not one of them could match the evil wits of Satan. I really believed at one time that he DID have a chance to beat thunder-thighs. Then he did this. First he stated that he was good friends with Hillary and has known her for a very long time. Then, he did the unthinkable. He hired the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to tag along with him. You remember him. Don't you? The guy who not only single-handedly bankrupted an entire city. But, also gave the State of New Jersey a $384 BILLION deficit. Great choice Donald. Why don't you just meet Hillary in a motel for three days and you can be the next leader in about eight years or so.

The other Republican hopefuls were 1. Pretty Boy (he could get the eighteen year old vote but, that's about all.) 2. *****-Nilly (just not leadership material.) 3. BUSH? 4. Some guy whose name sounds like a ****** disease. 5. The Penguin, or as he put it Dracula. And other fiends of Hillary.

Sorry Folks,

The fix was in from the get go.
It's in the bag.

Let's just hope that thunder-thighs doesn't squeeze us too hard.


Oh, just one last thing. If we limit terms in the Senate, Congress, and most importantly Supreme Court. Then, and only then will we have an uncorrupted government. You can thank me later.

A Poet

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Governmental apparatus,
Did thou forget thy soldiers status?
As in a box you send him home??

Six feet below!!!!

Governmental beast's,
Didst thou have thy feast's,
With thy oil money and terrace divided?

Commando uninvited!!!

Govermental liars,
Partakers to nefarious deeds,
Put a gun in hand, eighteen to the marching band,

You've spoiled innocent seed!!!

Governmental bureaucrats,
Republicans, and Dependents,
Democratics to rat pendants,

For is thy party thy truth, o'er just a front?

Governmental witches,
More pills to heal those stitches,
More trenches to foreign ditches,

And regional to!!!

Governmental carnivorous,
Not paying thy army man's dentist nor doctor?
Give them radiation for cancer?

Mind control you give involuntary!!!

Governmental disregarders,
Turn clay into mortar,
Turn thine own country into hell!!!!

Armageddon shells!!!!

Governmental rapists,
Put obituaries on our pages,
Mother's and fathers alike!!!

No partiality there!!!

Governmental druids,
Paint pictures of moribund tanks,
Where gold thou has stored in thy bank,

And bankrupted on thy trillions???

Governmental addicts,
Turn bread into maggots,
Can't feed the third world?

Can't even feed us??

Governmental appendix,
Are you dying to get rich?
O'er wish thou was poor to escape thine judgment?

Thy soldier thou hath missed!!!!

Governmental Premiers,
Turn mascara into tears,
And old age is naught to this era you've intended!!

Befriended!!!

Hath thou forgotten the tombstones to every square inch scattered amongst thy broken rural?

Here's a picture of thy own son and daughter,
Such a refining mural!!!!!!!!

Money buys women & paves the way for a letcher to get his due so
surrender **** tawny Cebu Isle pinay for the moola I promised you

I didn't mean to chill the tea
But heat always flows spontaneously from hotter to colder bodies, and
never the reverse

Sorry I copied that
from Wikipedia

I never liked chilled tea
let alone the iced
one. Then
at two I remember you.
The cafe's
bankrupted.

Naturally, three wishes would always be
divided by zero
Genie was meant to be
a hero. Genie was meant to be
a hero. Genie was meant t---

Back then on March
Four fears
I thought I would see you
(I didn't cry at the parking lot)
From five to six p.m.
seven people had waited
for me to stop the weep
(It was the second box from the left
on a women's bathroom, if you want to know)

I am burning all the books
along with the old letters
along with your new lover

*And the language obscene

Still don't know if I'm running to or running from.
I hitched a plane West, for a dream I fear is already dead.
For what I thought I saw is already gone.
Thought I saw tomorrow, but it was a lie.
Thought I saw a better future, but I was blind.
Painting dreams on the insides of my eyelids.
I had years to plan, but instead I landed like a refugee,
with lint in my pockets and tears in my eyes.
Running from phantoms, the very phantoms,
I need to survive.
Wishing for the very things that will be the very death of me.
So many dreams across my eyelids, I painted them shut.
I dreamt myself blind.
Bankrupted my future with delusions of grandeur.
Threw away my present, because I thought the present didn't matter.
"The future will set me free", I boasted.
But what happens when you outrun tomorrow?
And the money's gone, and everyone else has moved on?
Everyone except you, of course.
You pushed your friends away,
ignored your family's pleas,
I thought, "The future will solve my problems."
Why did I throw all my friends away,
knowing how hard it is for me to make friends?
Because I believed too much in Tomorrow.
I believed, but I didn't prepare.
I rolled the dice, but forgot to bet.
I built the house, but never laid the concrete.
And now Today is Tomorrow, and Tomorrow is Today.
And now I'm all alone, trapped on another planet, so far from home.
I'm at a Crossroads, and there is no safe route.
There is no less traveled, there is no less wild.
I am what I always wanted to be.
Alone.

He is an old
cold clod,
clay killer,
a muddy faced foe
of late
who I learned to hate;

Neurally neutered
by a network
of morally bankrupted
rich men
who tell him
what to think,

nervous and jittery,
a solvable mystery
that bothers me
because the enigma
could be easily
adjusted to improve
all of our lives.

Yet, he remains oblivious.
With a silvery shank of
stale ignorance
he stabs the very core of me,
promoting the gory,
and proactive expansion
of humanity’s worse traits.

A sea of sickness spreads
the black bile and poison of
oppression, sexism,
greed, bigotry,
and the intentional
obfuscation
truth.