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Jon Po Dom Oct 2018
What do you do when you feel uninspired??

It’s been so long since I last wrote a piece. I don’t consider myself a poet. I consider myself an inspirational writer. I write about what I feel and though I feel a lot of things I’m just not the same. I haven’t felt inspired to write. I haven’t felt the urge. I haven’t been moved. Words elude me. I feel like I’m blocked and I’m unhappy. How did you overcome and grasp your inspiration when it left?

To tell you a bit about me and my struggles. I have a double personality. One person is Jon. The other is Dom. Hence my username. I am Jon. A quiet, introvert. Mostly keep to myself. Dom is extroverted and into some aspects of the **** lifestyle. Dom went through a rough time feeling betrayed by the one he loved and still loves, to be honest. My family never understood me and they ravaged what beautiful thing I once held in my arms. I was still writing until I suddenly wasn’t anymore.  

I want to write. I need to write but the words just don’t flow. Please help! I’m slowly dying inside.
Ceida Uilyc Aug 2014
And,  I smiled at my own nakedness.
Pouring down my thighs,
With the *****,
I stood stark ****.
Unbounded of the brassieres
And support of the *******,
It was a plain freedom.
But, I.
I felt the air quench horror down.
The tingling of the copulation
And, its sweaty remnants glued the ***** soil,
Onto my tender body,
While crouched further into the ground.


It was very dark.
And, two limelight.
I could see me in one.
Bare.
Shaved
And dripping.

And, in the other,

A he,
Was not there.
Two dozen men stood
In front of me.

All those acquaintances it seemed like
The new age resultant of a dozen
Photoshop-ed faces reflecting the crimson of  
Familiar intimacies of all the swallowed *****,
It seemed as if.
Well, I could recognise all of them.
I had slept with each, once upon.


The beautiful ***, the sneering *******,
The-neourotic-awesome one, the pro-marriage one,
The sweet one, the afraid one, the older one,
The browny,
The passionately wild and genuine one,
The drugged one,
The fat ****
And the **** guy.
All in front of me.
While I was nubile,
Begging in clasped hands,
A tear of joy.
Of thankfulness.
Of a heavy thankfulness.
For having worshipped my innards
My ejaculations, perpetually wet vaginal facades
And escapades.

For the li'lest that time they did.

But, then.

Yes.

Ya, I was grateful,
I was simply grateful
For having been objectified.

For having been indebted to those zillion
Dissolved and
Disposed tissues in their garbage bins
That was blotched with my vaginal smear, ***** and mucous.

Time never felt necessary
A romantic forgetfulness!
For love had,
Taught me co-existence.
And only,
Co-existence.
Which, would come to use only if I'm shipwrecked, alone.


I stood up.
Yes, I stood UP ON MY LEGS.
My ******* panted off
the last bit of sweat,

The wind was pleasant,
But strong.

I couldn't feel the cold.
My fingers Icy cold I wrapped against the warm elbows,
And nails,
Gushing with an ablaze of bloodiest red of
A life so dead white.

And, the sweat had disappeared.

The ***** too.


I was drought, clean.

I was done.

A heavy tornado of misandry
Came buy,
And I jumped in.

And howled with the wind.


Loud, clear.
And, red.

And, howled the world to howl with me.

For the celestial lesions up above,
to buy my rage.


Because the effervescent stake was
Too holy a scent
For my scanty dermis.

I Howled,
Through my rusted lance
And swamped hips,
Too dry.

To Spike my cramps
And howl into my knee-caps a full blow of pure kush for the empty cavities.

Ha ha.

Entrap the last ounce of warmth
Of a paranoid agony.

And howl the misandry.

Around. And around.
And around.

Around.


Till it comes back,
Around n round n round.
N round.



Misandry, my toska.
My final Toska.
Toska is a Russian Word that is inexplicable to translate to English.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
i promise to write a few of these conversational style
poems, as with a direct addressee,
but you have to take into consideration
something that just happened to me...
i'm part of the generation that grew with the
skeleton of Facebook...
the infamous Microsoft chat-rooms...
and you might consider the next thing i'll write
as a well calculated error, the magpie
warned me just after i finished the Ernie bench
poem... the magpie warned me that i'd
fuel jealousy, that i'd feed it when i'd post
a poem of such intricate calibre on a website
which we all innocently joined,
i was one of the very second wave of those
initiated... the people who entered university...
a "friend" of mine introduced me,
as was with all the internet experience,
looking for a chat room for random conversation
it seemed like a sensible alternative...
we were all wrong... with this last poem,
i didn't re-post it... you end seeing ghosts of people
you once knew... the smart ones have already
unfriended you before you had a chance to
state why all this **** going on in the soul was
dragging you down... the competitive aspirations
of everyone... but such competitive aspirations are
great when you're in it together, and are only
competing for school grades... not for sending photographs
from holidays, or who you're with...
and there's a theological element in what i have to said:
the son of man? the jealous child of the old
testament, the wrathful child,
the child that was to teach men that pyramids were
a bad idea, until everyone knew enough science
to admire the Eiffel tower, and get a miniature Eiffel
on their mantelpiece, i.e. a worthy construction,
a celebration of people, not a person...
fair enough if they put an observation point on top
of Giza... and a restaurant in one of the burial
chambers... i did spend a lot of time looking
at the encryption of Hebrew - which illuminated me
to look into the Latin version of the dynamic,
and how it can sometimes also be understood
as to why English nuances the tetragrammaton to
never bother with adding diacritical marks on letters...
why and y are the same... this is what the
tetragrammaton illuminated...
but you see... the transition into Christianity is very
far from illuminating at the moment...
given that i'm digression from the main point,
the everyday reason why i kept my Facebook
account intact, but will not post anything more on it,
because, at some point, i knew these people,
from numbering above 300 friends (a misnomer of
contacts) i shrank it to 92, a random number...
what i noticed was indeed what everyone was doing:
harsh editing, which hid behind it the complexity
of my probing with anything Christian in my life...
by imitation i mean everything except for
enforcing the ultimate sacrifice, which is basically
Christ's misunderstanding of original sin...
he didn't have to go through either self-laceration
or induced-laceration by others...
the original sin, as i already stated was something
to do with male genital mutilation and female
genital mutilation, which, more eloquently
translates into what philosophers discuss in the
realm of the Essence, i.e. the omni- affix and
the suspected qualities (which when coupled to
Essence, gives us the Essences, a necessary
plurality, akin to Existences), which gives us
the mono- affix of supposed qualities -
i use suspected qualities attributed to the Essences
as the basis of not knowing and the wisdom
of mysticism - thus making something
suspect with something supposed is easier to
consider, because presuppositions are non-compatible
with what's already proposed, presuppositions
are more akin to the end-result of philosophy:
Wittgenstein's propositions.
as far as i know, i have just embarked into the realm
of respectable anonymity, a realm of certain
maturity - where the idea of a chat room is only
noted from the perspective: i'm using casual,
sometimes random conversation to engage with the
art, to better it... which is why, as it might be
the case, i might write a personal message to
anyone appreciating my work, i do so with
a maturity of having reached the age of 30,
an tested the safe waters of the internet...
to mention that one episode of the x files
season 5, episode 11, "**** the switch" -
what i noticed back then is that the idea of such an
a.i., constructed from many viruses, actually
attacked anyone watching ******* sites...
which would mean that there was a dualism
involved in it... as the basis of a love between
two people... no other type of websites were attacked
at the genesis of the internet... none...
not even those Microsoft chat-rooms where paedophiles
eventually prowled... i believe this a.i.
phenomenon did exist, but it was completely
disappeared into middle-age of the two subjects
who made their lives artificial in the digital matrix...
meaning they couldn't synthesise beyond
a necessary tier of life... the nonchalance of old age,
the calm hope of death in suffering...
this a.i. symbiosis of male and female was violent
due to a violent death... and hence a violent
prescription to want this carnal love akin
to computer viruses emerging primarily from
******* sites... all those complex sheets
of data from this episode, in the old computers
Windows 98 were pop-ups from ******* sites...
all that complex data for creating the a.i. duality
ended with the first computers having problems
with people who had foreskins and masturbated
(because that's what ******* enables),
and given the origin of even the fiction came
from America, and the near absolute use of circumcision
with the coming of the Jews to America
(it's not a conspiracy) - hence the male virus
a circumcised male phallus (a sword without a sheath)
mingled with the uncircumcised female counterpart
to create what western society calls it's supreme
telephone... which is why the Arab culture,
or at least the culture where both parts of the duality
are represented by mutilation... we receive no
benefit of communication on the sale apparent in
western society... you might think it crude...
but with some people sending pictures of their
genitalia to each other... seeing these words will
not really have an impact on your imagination
as to how to use the parts properly.

p.s. Windows 2000 and XP also...
               hardware? E-machine computers...
Apple was always immune to viruses...
                mainly because it did have a gaming
  capacity, and all hackers are gaming enthusiasts,
using much of gaming code to play games on
infrastructure codes of banks, shops and other such things.
Allen Davis Nov 2013
There are no ways to safeword out of this life.
I know, I’ve tried them all.
Elephant, apple, Alaska, amen.
Tried screaming anything into the pillow my face is pushed down into,
Whiskey, tango, foxtrot, stop
Exhausted my vocabulary against the blanket my fists are balled into fists against,
Anything to make the beatings stop
But they just
Keep
Coming.
In ****, having a safeword is like wearing a seatbelt.
There are rules about having one
And the ones who choose to do without
Are taking risks.
We are born without lifejackets, without seatbelts and safecut scissors
Without breakaway glass or rubberized mats
Without any way to make the world slow down
Let us catch our breath,
And jump back in.
There are no hard limits in the real world.
So we bite into our gags and wait for the session to end.
Elephant, apple, Alaska, amen.
entropiK Dec 2010
I am not one of these leather wearing ******* you see on **** sites. I am real. I listen to 911 calls on repeat. Images of gore, abortions, death, and torture fill me with unbridled lust.

Humans are amazing... Their build, their skin, with billions of embedded pain receptors. Optic nerves, sending horrific images directly into their frontal lobes. I love their faces, tiny changes in their expressions with different types and increments of pain.

There is such a glorious range and variety of pain that can be inflicted upon a human. Few appreciate the sublime canvas of a humans body. Each sense can be tweaked and tormented. All of there emotions can be played like an instrument, by someone with the right skills and tools. Their screams are sublime.

There is a certain kind of scream a person lets out, the moment they realize their own mortality, but it is beyond words. It makes me see red. I lust for it. I adore it.

I am free. I am not bounded by your conceptions of morality. ******, ****, and torture are simply choices. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want to whomever I want. Whether it is one death, a million, a billion, or an entire planet or the entire universe, it means less than nothing to me. I have no ideology, religion, or higher purpose. If the slab of meat and chemicals you call your mind is searching for a word to append to me, just think of me as an artist. My medium is flesh.

I walk among you. I understand you better than you understand yourself. I have studied the human body, peeled back the layers of flesh, the emotions. I see right through you. I am the nice, unassuming person you know. We share secrets. Some of you like me. Some of you love me.*

None of you know me.



I am, *sadist.
i tried this today! its what i got, haaaaa;
its lame but watevsssss
Samantha Apr 2015
Lip locking over the fishhooks in our cheeks.
I would have bled for you
Even if you never asked me to.
You love feels less like torture
And more like a special type of ****,
A type that transcends a fleeting ****** high.
You keep me high.

We are poisoned harpoon heads
Biting into each other’s flesh.
We are swords clashing in battle.
We are refracting magnets,
Opposing armies holding atomic bombs
On our tongues.

My ribcage is Hiroshima.
Your hands are Nagasaki.
When we come together we make Chernobyl.
Your radiation setting my broken bones.

I just can’t get enough of your
Post apocalyptic voice singing funeral songs
Over the snapping of embers.
Your teeth clacking together like wind chimes
Reminds of the steady pop-pop-pop of machine guns.
Your eyes are the barrels of snipers.

We love in red and black,
Black and blue.
We love in cracking knuckles.
Scars like constellations telling lost stories in the sky,

You reminded me of a vampire
With the way you licked the blood from my lips.
You told me I was the sweetest thing
You’ve ever tasted.
A raspberry in a basket of blackberries.
We just can’t shake this red and black haze.

Remember when you tore my vocal cords
Out of my throat with your teeth?
Remember when I screamed horror movie
‘I love you”s into your mouth?
Remember how it echoed until you swallowed it
Along with my bleeding heart?

You left me ****** and broken,
Do you remember?
Do you remember your baseball bat arms
Breaking my ribcage?
Committing the burglary?
Do you remember the lacerations?
The scabs blooming in the shape of chrysanthemums?

Our love is a car crash.
Crazy and messy and deadly and sad.
But we just can’t look away,
Just can’t walk away.
Our love put me in the hospital
And I’m happy to pay the bills
drumhound Apr 2017
If misery was a gift
she had Christmas every day.
Her clouds had clouds
and she traded the silver linings
for an overstock of black mold.

 She once had been happy,
but peace never challenged her
the way chaos did.
Now, the only thing she loves
is tending her garden of discontent
with **** rakes and spades
for 50 shades of defeat.

 If she achieved every goal on her checklist
she kept Einstein’s,
Hawking’s,
and Jesus Christ’s in her pocket
to remind her of the insufficiencies.

She complains that she has no friends
and assures it
with a magnifying glass of faults.
The profile for her perfect man
is rigid. So rigid
that even God didn’t qualify.
If she found a glass half-full
she’d grumble that it wasn’t Cognac Champagne.

 She has long since forgotten
the important thing -
the power of light.
For light heals
light brings hope
light always dispels darkness
unless YOU become an eclipse
between it and the world.

[VERSION 2.0]

SHE FORGOT

If misery was a gift
she had Christmas every day.
Paper and bows
she’d wrapped herself,
hand signed cards
To: Me, From: Me
every box opened
then rewrapped
and opened again
with tattered Scotch-tape scars
unsalvageable
like the excitement of a child
who found her hidden presents
in the closet 10 days
before Santa would come.

And clouds! How did you know!?
Gray, snowless,
pointless holidays
hopelessdays
all her days.

Her clouds had clouds
and she had traded the silver linings
for black mold.
They always fit her just right.

She once had been happy
but peace never challenged her
the way chaos did.
So she labors passionately in
a garden of discontent
nurtured year-‘round
but always growing winter
watering resentment and acrimony
with bitterness,
drawn from a barrel full
of moldy cloud rain.

Regardless of what she might achieve
she reminds herself
of others doing more
comparing checklists with Jesus Christ’s.
If she had fed the 5000,
she would still be
lacking the crucifixion.

You see, nothing grows
by accident in a well-kept
garden

including withered friends whom
she weeds, though beautiful
assuring they will never be more.
Those she doesn't pluck, she bakes
under her magnifying glass of faults.

She knows nothing of content
whether love, or God,
or a half-goblet of possibility.
If she found a glass half-full
she’d grumble that it wasn’t Cognac Champagne.

She has long since forgotten
the important thing –
the power of light.
How it heals and grows
hopeful sprouts, green
through struggling soil.
Light always dispels darkness
unless YOU become an eclipse
between it and the world.
When you cast your own
shadow
it’s easy to forget
the way flowers
grow back on their own
every spring

the way the clouds
sometimes break

unexpectedly.
Hawk Flight Sep 2014
BEWARE THIS IS GAY **** MATERIAL!*

Push you down onto your knees
Your hands tied tightly behind you
My manhood waiting for your lips.
Grab your short hair push you forward
Trying not to moan.

******* my hand in your hair
Pushing you back and forth.
You whimper softly taking me fully

Can't take this torture anymore
Needing to bury my love and desire
deep within you.

hands still tied
I flip you over
Your perfect small round *** in the air
waiting for me.

you are mine no one elses*
I smack your *** and kiss it better
Before I claim it as mine.

Burying my love within you
thrusting
moaning
whimpering
Clawing
growling
screaming

Release my love
deep inside.

spin you around
your still in need

take you in my mouth
you quiver beneath me
stuggling against your retrains.
****** your hips pushing deeper
Loving you with my mouth
Realese your love.

Both panting hard
Both still wanting more

what will this day have instore?
Gliding her fingers from soft to tight
The gilded marionette makes a move familiar
Around my neck, between my legs
She pull/plays my manhood the one who pegs
The tips of index, middle, ring and pinkie
A dismissive look,
with an intent to shrink me

Chased by insanity
Chased by a pseudo-chaste ****-ring tease
yarn controls my escape,
ears to ignore my pleas  
strings of sadistic strings of laughter  
strings saunter strings of master
strings of *******, yet still i walk her
as a ghostly orbiting satellite stalker

******* purple::: smile lust sensation
As the puppeteers rope cut my circulation

Only then can she strum her favorite tune
The Pinocchio Waltz played on a five string loom
She tunes her string with every finger
A dismissive giggle plays the part of singer


The middle for the daily “*******” because she can

The ring will be for another man

The pointer lets you know her needs

The pinkie for the soul that bleeds

The thumb is for the empress’ judgement  

Till she slaps you down, (I ******* love) her ****** bludgeons
Calli Kirra Jan 2014
My rock bottom is an endless abyss
A trainwreck that keeps going,
And deals with the hits
I'm a tiger, I'm a bull
A titanium doll
**** heart,
Leather, chains and all
Don't bother
It goes in one little ear,
Slinks out the other
Another drink goes down,
Disappears like the others
But I love my boys
My girls, my time
The same boy, the bumpy ride
They cry, I shine
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Since music is part of the headwear, most of the colors
of death in the air is about two amino acids, but it is
Latin to place stars on other flags, golden gold from America.
Changes for the musicians in the sunshine,
you are on your way. The wind zone of The queen of the sea
is in the early hours of the morning. I dropped in cold war.
The beauty of the British English-Asian team lost his wife,
John is in the heart of Sky Europe Baloo snooch blue spirit
July Goddess woman to return from Jesus devil evil rains
in Russia If you are a friend from the hand of food, garden;
The radio satellite square of the series of titles called SMA
French is full of fun games for children, six and six,
full of hope and Rs. A book about worrying, but the old word is true,
for example, to the image of Russia with the power
of the eagle under the stars. Igor is very tense.
There is a spirit. There are many words about nature.
Decorative jewelry and waiting for the mouth
and tongue are salty, *****, crazy, cool in the mirror
and work like an external wall stone. Find what
we did not find. The purpose of the gods you have
to say in the name of the image is to take half
the leaves by your feet to drink wine, to be gay, up,
and mother and like smoke to the feet in socks,
as you do of water, jellyfish materials at the Museum
of Asian Lands; bad news, my Perkins, Einstein's tree
and school board pictures of Einstein's users who
have been asked to sleep in the middle of the sun,
or burned in the middle of Los Angeles at the Los Angeles host.
The water waves of the mountains went to the drunken prophet
of the Chinese, but a man of Goldman Sachs was often
involved in the Alchemy of Bettie's wounds written
to all the host of many who have met the general.
Dogs on the ground? taken ill falls on his side,
the arms of the preparation of the grace we receive,
but not to create the council of holy happiness,
in fact, it is the least sign for women's leaders,
since music is a part of the head of the fair pole,
most of the color of death in the air about two elbows
of amino acids, but it is a Latina to the stars
and other brands of fire, the head of gold from America.
The exchange of money is for the poet in the glory of the sun,
it was on his way. The air space The queen of the sea
in the morning hours. I left the cold war. The beauty
of the young Greek English-Asian team had lost his wife,
John is in the heart of the Sky over Europe's Baloo snooch's
blue spirit of the July Goddess woman to return from Jesus' evil
devil dog in Russia; If you are a friend from the hands
of the food the radio garden drinks squares of the series
of dreams called ****, French in questions full of high games
for babies, children and an overheated
six-year-old full of hope and said Rs.
A book about the crisis, but the old saying is true,
for example, to the image of Russia,
with a strong wind of poetry under the stars.
Igor is a very big one. There is a spirit.
There is a lot of talk about nature.
The ladies ornaments standing up and waiting
for mouths and tongues to twist, feels *****, crazy,
knowing the feeling in the mirror
and running like a stone to get outside the park.
Search the invisible. The lips of the gods
he has to speak in the name of the game
is to move half of the leaf by means of her feet
so that she drinks the wine, to be gay in the mountains
and a mother and as the smoke goes to the feet
out of socks as it comes out of the water,
the jellyfish instruments in the Museum
of the province of Asia; bad news, my Perkins,
the wood and the Einstein public library is a picture
of Einstein's strippers asked to sleep in the middle of sleep,
or sleep in the middle of Los Angeles in Los Angeles
consumer separator. The waves of the mountains up
to the Chinese drink prophet,
but a man of the Goldman Sachs frequency
of the Alchemy of Bettie's coal has written
to the full army, many of whom have met the general.
Pieces of dogs on the ground? torn,
and fell on his knees, the arms of the preparation
of the grace received, but not so much as to create a circle of holy joy,
in fact, a very thin plaque of women leaders.
When music is part of a tree handsome head hot,
the color of a particular amino acid death of three feet;
But I do not have a Latina's stars of torches
came to the fire, the head of the American gold.
He has gone the poet is one glory of the sun,
the money is the change. Air space. The queen of the sea
in the morning hours. Come out of the cold war.
And beauty is a young Greek English Asian
who follows lost the wife of John and sits in the heart of the Sky
over Europe's Baloo snooch, July woman blue goddess spirit
to come home Jesus' bad dog hell up Russian. |
If you are a friend of the hands of the food,
beverage numbers French garden square
Dream in question to call the small radius
of the baby is not full of games into the deep,
had six sons, the heat is 3, and the said Rs,
full of hope. A book critical of the old but true,
for example to the image of Russia,
a strong wind at the foot of poetry's living stars.
Igor is very rich.
It is a siege against. There is a lot of talk about nature.
When the first robot breaks cultural fields
and the sky sweet child has the right
to walk around the core of the destruction
of memory friend Ringers poet.
The ornaments of the women
were standing waiting mouths of the tongue's laps,
***** feet, madness, knowing the feeling of a mirror,
he is running as a stone out of the park. Look for the invisible.
of the gods he shall speak in the name of the game
to do the media, newspapers apt to be moved by means of the lips,
that sends forth the feet of the drinking of the wine to be gay,
in the mountains and mothers: for a smoke shall come,
like the socks on the feet of the instruments from the Medusa
in the Asian Museum and Aquarius; bad news, my lady Perkins,
a tree, and Einstein's library has asked for the public image
of Einstein's sleep in the middle of the strippers
from the sleep of the Angels in the central dream
of the Los Angeles painted stripper. Hills wet with the waves of the
came to the prophet, came to drink, they began to perfect
the Chinese writing on the inside Alchemy of Bettie,
was filled with a crowd came up to meet with the man
of Goldman Sachs computation to many Gen.
the feet of the monster of the city and led him to **** a Christian
and had taken of the origin of some other thing,
and the color of the flame and brought him
to Rattan. The dogs pieces of country? torn, and fell upon my knees,
fell in love with the kind of the institution
of the arms of the holy women also, your joy,
far and near, that of all of the world revolution
and the leaders' present an infirmary
and a very thin plate. Since it is part of the running rings,
the majority of dead memories of death in the air
are two amino acids, but the stars and other artifacts
are the Latin American golden gold.
Changes to musicians in the solar radiation are:
You're on your activity. The Queen's Queen is awake in the early morning.
I stopped the Cold War. English, English, English, English,
English, French, English, French, English, French, English,
French, English, French, French, Spanish, French and Spanish,
And six, hope and despair. The book about depression,
for example, the old word is the correct Russian language,
with the power of the stars. Jiang is very hard. There is a spirit.
There are several words about nature. Stunning jewelry
and glazes, *****, crazed, crystal-clear lamps,
and the exterior walls are awesome. Find what we have not obtained.
The purpose of the gods you speak of in the name of the image
is to take part in your hands, become homosexuals,
and mothers, and even to your feet like water works,
Museum of Asian Art Museums, Bad news, my Pentecens,
the stereo tree and the school board were asked to sleep
in the sun or in the city of Los Angeles, USA,
incinerated by fire. The waves of the mountains
are moving to the screams in China. However,
adult male Sheik Aged was generally a bipolar ulcer
with a large group of people. Dogs on Earth?
The gifts we have received are not at the expense
of the weak, but on the side of the oppressors,
not the creation of God's love, but at least a symbol
of women leaders. Since music is part of the headgear,
most of the color of death in the air is about two
amino acids, but it is Latin to stars and other flags,
golden gold from America. Changes are for the musicians
in the sunshine, you are on your way. The wind zone;
The queen of the sea in the early hours of the morning.
I dropped in cold war. The beauty of the British English-Asian team
lost his wife, John is in the heart of Sky Europe
Baloo snooch blue spirit July Goddess woman
to return from Jesus' devil
evil rains in Russia If you are a friend
from the hand of the food garden; The radio satellite
squared of the series of titles called  French is full of fun
games for children, six and six, full of hope and Rs.
A book about worrying, but the old word is true,
for example,
to the image of Russia, with the power of the eagle
under the stars. Igor is very tense. There is a spirit.
There are many words about nature. Decorative jewelry
and waiting until the mouth and tongue are salty, *****,
crazy, cool in the mirror and works like an external
wall of stone.  Find what we did not find. The purpose
of the gods you have to say the name of the image
is to take half the leaves by your feet to drink wine, ||
to be gay, up and a mother like smoke to the feet socks,
as you do of water, jellyfish materials at the Museum
of Asian Lands; bad news, my Perkins, Einstein's tree
and school board are pictures of Einstein's users who
have been asked to sleep in the middle of the sun,
or burned in the middle
of Los Angeles at the Los Angeles host.
The water waves of the mountains went
to the drunken prophet of the Chinese,
but a man from Goldman Sachs was often performing
Alchemy on Bettie's wounds written
to all the host of many who had met the general.
Dogs on the ground? has taken ill, and falls on his side,
the arms of the preparation of the grace we receive,
but not to create the council of holy happiness,
in fact, the least sign for women's leaders.

Music is a part of a hat, so most of the color of the death
in the atmosphere is about 2 amino acids,
but Latin is Latin in American gold and stars.
Changes are to you for the sunlight musicians.
The area of ​​the wind The queen of the sea
is in the early morning. I fell into the Cold War.
British English - the beauty of the Asian teen lost his wife,
John Sky Europe Baloo Snooky Blue Spirit
In the heart of the goddess of July the Russian devil
is in the heart of the goddess' If you are a friend
from the Garden's SMALL Radio Satellite Square
in a series of titles called French is full of fun and games
for Hope and R Full Kids, 6 and 6. Although it is a book
on worry, the old words are the truth, for example,
the image of Russia, the power of the eagle under the stars.
Igor is very nervous. There is a spirit. There are many
words about nature. Waiting for decorative jewelry,
her mouth and tongue works like salty, *****, crazy,
mirrored, exterior wall stone. I will find what we did not find.
The purpose of God you have to say in the name
of the image is to drink wine, become gay, up, and mother,
take half of the feet like water like smoke in foot socks,
Asian Jellyfish materials at the museum of land, bad news,
my Perkins, Einstein Tree and Board of Education
were asked to sleep in the middle of the sun,
Einstein's user photos, or in the middle of Los Angeles
at Los Angeles host It is a baked picture.
The wave of the mountain water went to a drunk
Chinese prophet, but the man of Goldman Sachs
was often an alchemist of Betty scars,
written to many people who met the shogun.
Is the dog on the ground? We took the weapon
of the preparation of grace; we received
and dropped it to the side but in fact
it was not able to recreate the council of sacred happiness.
Music is a part of a hat, so most of the color of the death
in the atmosphere is about 2 amino acids, but Latin is Latin
in American gold and stars. Changes are to you
for the sunlight musicians. The area of ​​the wind
The queen of the sea is in the early morning. I fell into the Cold War.
British English - the beauty of the Asian team lost his wife, John Sky Europe's Baloo Snooky Blue Spirit In the heart of the goddess
of July the Russian devil is in the heart of the goddess'
If you are a friend from the Garden of SM Radio's Satellite
Square in a series of titles called French is full of fun games
for Hope and R Full Kids, 6 and 6.
Although it is a book on worry,
the old words are the truth, for example,
in the image of Russia, the power of the eagle
under the stars. Igor is very nervous. There is a spirit.
There are many words about nature.
Waiting for decorative jewelry and
mouth and tongue works like salty, *****,
crazy, mirrored, exterior wall stone.
I will find what we did not find. The purpose of God
you have to say in the name of the image is to drink wine,
become gay, up, and mother, take half of the feet
like water like smoke in foot socks, Asia Jellyfish
materials at the museum of land, bad news, my Perkins,
Einstein Tree and Board of Education were asked
to sleep in the middle of the sun, Einstein used photos,
or in the middle of Los Angeles at Los Angeles host;
It is a baked picture. The wave of the mountain
water went to a drunk Chinese prophet,
but the men from Goldman Sachs were often alchemists
of Betty's scars, written to the many people
who met the shogun. Is the dog on the ground?
We took the weapon for the preparation
of grace we received and dropped it to that side ||
but alas, it was not able to recreate the Council of Sacred Happiness.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2022
honestly? if i could be accused of being an anti Semite:
could Freud be called a Semite in the classical
sense of: say, scuttling like a "rat" in sneakers
on... hmm... why is it that when i type on
Day of Judgement... i first receive results for the Islamic
concept of Yawm ad-Din,
   and not... oh... right... i'm thinking of Yom Kippur...
i used to lived next to a synagogue...
i'd love watching these rug-a-muffins with their
curly "dreads" scuttling into their hiding wearing
sneakers... because they couldn't be bound to any
ownership of leather... no leather shoes...
no leather belts... yeah: and i was considered a lunatic
once... get enough people on board...
no secular psychological lion to stress you out
as some weakling away from the herd...
but with Freud? i'm a ******* SS-mensch...
i abhor him... interpretation of dreams?
  hey, Freudy-ol'boy... i think i just dreamed of
the birth of an oyster... i think i might as well
have shoved my head backward like the freefall
head-first of a Lucifer back into the source...
i think i was literally dreaming of how oysters
reproduce... curious little boy that i am...
    i hate Freud with a passion... to me he's not even
a ***... he's just a high-brow intellectual
readied to pamper to the needs of 19th century
aristocratic ladies having to be married to the likes
of Huysmans' Jean des Esseintes...
or Baron Masoch... Venus in Furs...
                      things... change...
         mutatio omnia...
                         all is subject to change...
                Copernicus is rigid... Freud... eh...
not so much...
                               there are fluctuations...
Freud is not rigid...
        his intellectual outpouring is subject to change...
unlike Marxism with it's rigid idiocy...
because its focus is on the personal level:
i... i return to the archetypes...
               Freud can't do that for me...
i do that for myself...
                   imagine a lion yawning when
watching a boxing match... because... the spectacle
per se is boring... he has to take care of this
mental "******" having a panic attack...
i can't imagine being this abusive to my mother...
a ******* train about to derail...
    even she said... as i sat down and talked with her...
trying to comfort her...
in my scenario: my mother would be crying...
while i'd be the one making last judgement remarks
about the society i'm living in...
in her case... she's the stern one...
while her son is crying... having a panic attack...
while i'm trying to hug him... comfort him...
i'm the one who drinks half a litre of whiskey
and then gets a double hit from adrenaline
while cycling...
   thankfully i had this... i'll mention race...
once... i'll mention race... once...
thankfully i had this black steward under my supervision
that helped me sort this sack of **** out...
like... what's the ******* stereotype?
akin to: one flew over the cuckoo's nest...
that... all the head-cases were handled by black guys...
are they more tender? are they motherly...
lion-prone imitation? and i'm the ******* remains
of a Mongol horde... i too can be tender...
touch touch... but black guys are tender creatures...
i don't even know what that meme was about...
about them being Orc... what African tribe ever
left Africa to invade some other piece of land...
well... beside now... but now they are invited
by the masochistic ruling "elite" of Oops-orp-U...
        even at the Fury-Whyte match i was wondering...
why have these two gals walked out of the VIP
restaurant, the 1-20... 1-120 club... club Wembley...
whatever it's called... conversation sort of claustrophobic
in there? a great bake of ***...
mind you... i can get the same for £120 per hour...
i don't need to spend £3000 and a date for a boxing match...
Mammoth doesn't discriminate when it comes
to females selling their sexuality...
just standards differ... beauty in the eye of the beholder
sort of *******...
         sure... nice piece of bagels... but not worth
£3000... i can get the same for £120 for an hour's
worth... hey... that's how life goes...
    why i abhor the Madonna-***** Complex
and why i'm invested in the ******-Cougar Complex?
beside the grannies... i'd **** anything that moves...
or maybe it's to do with...
   oh... this story i heard... see... i was born
with a Chernobyl tattoo... a birthmark on my right shoulder
blade... a sort of mark of Cain...
later down the line i had it removed...
which implies: loss of muscle from the shoulder blade
area... now i have excess muscle surrounding my
shoulder blade...
        but anyway... when i was born... silence...
then the nurse that was taking care of me...
tried to choke me... **** me... which... translated
into an enlarged heart problem...
  i was also ridden with a hernia...
                blah blah...
                        if i have any animosity towards women?
it's unconscious... which translates as:
transactional, purely ******...
   to hell with looking for a Madonna...
that part dropped off... i just took the ***** part
and made it into a ******-Cougar complex...
            and i like tending to people's needs...
                                   but i'm also, strangely: misanthropic...
when i need to be... i am...
when i don't need to be: the recluse i become...
i just can't stress it enough...
  you know: when you've been hurt by women
on an unconscious level...
as a baby in hospital... because of a Chernobyl
strawberry mark on your back...
hell: if they hate you so much from birth...
what are you going to do?
hit them back with love... go to the prostitutes...
**** the priests and psychiatrists...
you want to touch... feel around the other's
body like a blind worm... like an octopus...
wrap the whole of your 6ft2 100kg around
them... make them as tender as an oyster...
gulp them up with ever kiss every slobber...
every plum tattoo of the pelvis as you ram them
into convulsions of mini-spasms of Morse-Code
ecstasy...
         but i hate Freud with a rare passion...
that doesn't translate to all other Hebrews...
                 i find revulsions when orientating myself
around his intellect... his supposedly
rigid... archetypical findings...
                   the dissemination of the herd...
                       **** me... i need the herd intact!
so few are the calibre's worth of being... stealth...
of being predatory...
             at work i'm always of this mentality:
there's no ******* psychologist's couch safety net...
it's the closest i've come to my daydream
of having joined the army...
          but... conversation comes first...
physical stress comes later...
          if at all... like only two days ago... with that
panic attack sack-of-****... being mouthful to my stewards...
appease this little ****** as much as possible...
i don't want to use force... hey presto! it worked...
he did eventually sit down next to his mother
and watched the match... even she said...
i lived in London for 15 years... i know where i'm
going after the match... but he doesn't...
he doesn't have any money on him...
so i said to my black: yes: BLACK steward...
good job... don't worry about it... he has a mobile...
she has a mobile... they'll be able to find themselves...
- but i hate Freud with an anti Semite passion...
even though i'm prone to the occult...
an advocate of the Kabbalah... because...
Ha-Shem has all the necessary requirements
of phonetic sense in Roman script...
   because Ha-Shem didn't destroy the Roman script
like he might have and did...
destroy the Egyptian hieroglyphs
                 and Persian cuneiform...
   since the Romans never enslaved the Hebrews...
the Hebrews which became the Yids in Germania
were allowed to flourish...
    even under Casimir the Great they were allowed
to flourish in ******-lack-lands...
   and that's because of, what? they brought us a
Trojan horse equivalence of a suffering on a cross?
subdued "us"?
         i hate: equally... Freud as much as Christianity...
kneeling... giving ******* to some concrete
emblem of... the biggest troll of hell:
the Lord of Mosquitos...
     Ba'al Yah'Toosh...
                          come to think of it... there's Israel...
so why am i still "thinking" about the diaspora
of Yids all around the world?!
  ****** was a vegetarian...
                    Eva Braun had Jewish genes...
   you think, her masterplan wasn't
    for the resurrection of a Jewish nation:
  to be finally freed from being subconsciously
"European" and... strike the hornets nest
of Islam?
                         Helen of Troy...
           Elizabeth Bathory...
                       ****** Mary... yeah... only men were
ever evil...
          i'm starting to think that Henry VIII
was a mild mannered man... until...
   he stepped into a pile of **** of ****...
                      best bet... with prostitutes...
i'm trying to understand why so many men are
hung up on women they can't keep...
me? i'm clueless as to why my cats like me...
and i'm still trying to figure out
how people can post adverts for their: "lost cats"...
eh... "lost"? cats don't become lost...
they just figured out: you're a **** keeper...

    gingers... Jemminah... ah man... when i cycled past
her walking with the most un-remarkable looking
man... sort of her height...
i knew something went terribly wrong...
intimidation... i must have intimidated her...
bringing along my own home made wine...
and my home made banana loaf...
reading her boy's poem out-loud to him...
like Frank O'Hara i hate the colour orange...
but i love oranges...
   and i love ginger haired people...
add some curls to the canvas...
we're talking...            no... we're not talking...
Jess Glynne... we're imagining...
                 i guess i wasn't looking for a Madonna...
and she figured it out...
that's why i hate Freud and that's why i hate
him by doubling up on coupling him with
a *** perspective on European matters...
that's why i once made it prominently known:
i'd rather drink my own *****: which i did...
than drink the metaphorical blood juice of red
wine... then i'd puke on the crucifix...
rather than **** on it...
                     emblem of too much easily
available fixations...
                        no thank you... i don't need
a woman attired in a niqab when i'm freely in possession
of a *******...
if i could: i'd take the snip... if i were guaranteed
a leash akin to a niqab on a woman...
but i still don't understand why it's
only called circumcision and not MGM:
male genital mutilation...
        is that some sort of a libido trick
i'm not "yet" aware of? does China or India
have the same methodology?!
   i think they don't... not with their population size...

my mother was never mothering...
i'm sort of lucky...
she cries before i get a chance to... probably laugh...
implanted in me... the archetype of a blonde...
that soon died... recently a hunger for
girls with ginger... curly hair woke me up
to a new pursuit...

if i were looking for a Madonna...
ugh... sick... Freud...
    i wouldn't be looking for a woman to tend
over me... if i had children... yes...
over them...not me... leave me: the **** alone...
and how it's framed: all the fault is relied
on man's existence: per se...
this per se: is crucial... without men...
you couldn't implant these sick: Semite ideas...
into crushing the European soul...
it's like these Semites are fighting two wars...
one with the Arabs: the actual war...
but with the Europeans... a spiritual war...
so... why ******* this **** far north?!

o.k. Kippah brother... you know what happened
to Balaam?
            you will not lead these letters into extinction...
you made your offering... of the crucified man...
now the crucified man is making a comeback:
let's change him a while...
redress him from a crucifix packaged into
an iron maiden, how's that?!

right now... i'm *******... and i'm rarely ******
off... but now i'm ******* fuming!
i'm scratching my nose... i'm pinching my lips...
i'm looking for my forehead...
all the more looking at the people
most oblivious to change...
            
                no! i will not be sexualised by someone
who has been deformed by genital mutilation!
i will not accept his intellect! ******* ******...
nein! nie! niet!
             i'll only accept uncircumcised intellectual
arguments... by now... yes! i'm a ****!
in the broadest sense imaginable... i love the uniforms...
god... give me a Hugo Boss schwarzanzug...
                  i don't hate the Hebrews...
i just hate the intellect of one Heb...
                         with a William Hazlitt follow-up...
i am not going to be pacified into
a **** **** of an Islamic invading party...
but i will fast with them...
like i told them: it's not for religious reasons...
fasting gives me a chance to concentrate
a little bit more...

                            but... honestly?
most of the people i'm working with...
they'd be better suited to an extermination camp...
they're so ******* useless...
you can tell they have been borne from
an uninhibited ****** thirst...
        they're useless...
   a space... a time... but function? no...
that's missing... like a head might be missing
on a worm... oh... wait... worms
don't have heads... just mouths...
         i pretend thinking that these Muslims
have eyes... or ears... but i mostly see heads
that resemble mouths...

well if the leftist media wants to conjure up Nazis...
hey! hey!     oi! oi!
                                     like my once known fwend
once stated: plenty of Nazis in Poland...
so... not in Ukraine?!
            whatever...
lazy-*** Somalis...
                      i think i'd be a good gas chamber
operator; because i've reached that point
where...
           people exist... for no ******* ulterior
reason... they are just rigid... chess-pieces types...
retards...
         or they pretend to counter authority
with some ******* scam argument...
                 it's simply for me...
                                       i'd be a great gas chamber
operative... i might blink once or twice...
but i'd most certainly yawn...
                   i can't the believe the animosity for humanity
stirred up in me...
             it's almost: godly...
i'd feel less if i were allocated the status of farmer
and required to keep company with a herd
of cattle... this isn't cattle...
this is a splintering pseudo-herd of a mix
of scammers... busy-bodies... sure... the large proportion
is compliant...
         but the rest? what could give either or them
more relief? shackle them... or gas them?!

i don't know... it must be an ancient curse of feeling:
when... people are uncooperative...
the whip and lashing sort of comes out in me...
the army-esque rigidity...
it makes me feel like i want to shave my beard
and just keep the moustasche:
   like some British Empire officer...

           i abhor thinking these thoughts...
    but they are, necessary, they are the required learning
ground in order to inhibit their execution...
to their fullest extent...

      i need to think these thoughts through
in order to not enact upon them...
i need to curb my impulses...
coupled with: showcasing them... better i show them
than hide them, ferment on them...
and later... much later... do the much
utter worst...
            
                      i hate Freud... seriously...
all he had was internalized masculinity? there was...
nothing... external?! all man... women
sort of "stopped" existing?!
women stopped existing during the 19th century...
which... made them non-accountable: primo!
during the 21st century...

                              no wonder, then... why wouldn't
Islam pounce! at the freely available
****! it's not "our" women would ever mind...

me? i'm just trying to clarify the collective
narrative... it's nothing personal...
         i'm walking with Horace... i simply don't
care;
   why would i care? for "western europe"...
we're the non-existent jokes of Alred Jarry...
"eastern eruope": via language...but geographically
we're CENTRAL-EUROPE...
   yeah: here's your *******, glorious: SUNSET...
you generous *****!
                        i think that's what always ******
off the Russians... that they were...
relegated as pseudo-Mongols...
                      even though: Kiev was founded
by Swedes...
                       that would **** me off...
                                 if someone kept labelling red:
blue... i'd get *******... on a microcosm level...
i would... i would become so *******...
i'd loose it! simply!
                                     i'd start a war...
why excuse the Iraq or the Afghanistan invasions?
seriously? this side of history?!
**** it... if they can invade Iraq / Afghanistan...
why not us?!
          any news from Syria?
                          
the world can ******* and be the world it
chose to be...
i'm just thankful that... massive lizards
were made erased and these weren't
massive insects.
Words turning stale,
rolling the sour taste around
inside your mouth.
Nausea mixing in your gut, but
how do you explain it to someone,
that what you want doesn't even matter?
Anxiety and depression already
occupy your bed in the worst kind of three-way,
and there isn't any room for someone
who could actually love you.
How do you tell someone that it's like
**** without a safe word, that the only part
they would ever get to play is aftercare,
damage control?
The poison in your mind infecting everything;
it's just better to love from a distance.
There's less blood.
im double posting (sorry)

tagging poems with "anxiety" and "depression" makes me feel like an ******* but it's relevant in this case
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Royal starch is poor and many deaths are in the air
from amino acids 2, but in the United States - gold
and other gold. Anglo-American has lost her wife.
Blue blue spirit john. The blue spirit is in the middle
of the sky. Europe of God of Julian Jesus Christ.
Persecution in Russian rage; It can be food when you
want to eat, if you want to be. What is **** in French,
full of hope and R for children 6 and 6 years old?
I fear the book, but the old words are true, our spirits.
Many facts about nature. Gol, mouth, tongue and salt salt,
*****, crazy. I did not see what I did not see.
Going to the Museum of Jelly, Charlotte Perkins of Asia
Art will be Jelly Einstein, with good table tables,
which will be Einstein, city or downtown Los Angeles.
Is waterwater available to the ground? Good for your illness.
A wise wise person would like that day when motherhood
is a good family to be ready for the societies. Green green
green red red red color green world black Greek English
middle Los Asia female john art -life ghostly sky sky wheelbarrow
Europe snookered dog-god; Time on Russian clocks,
Jesus Chris,
who observes the problems of community problems
with problems inside, friends, ideas, children, numbers,
radio, dreams, streets , children, small, regular phones,
lots, Tsovkaya's Jewish cat will lose the shadow of the years of joy;
Christian joy cheats George's Italian best going tips · Igor 2 African · beckon for musicians to use the mouth,
***** to protect the philosophy,
which also speaks of rocks and rocks in the banner
to move and perform in an excellent sports industry,
in I'm listening to the angel angel Betty Canada
has a P-th computer that meets the human soul silver company
g lasses glasses glasses [pneumatics] a week ago astrologers
lshebnye NS in the [on earth for astrologers] |
Royal starch is poor, and many air deaths for amino acids 2,
but in the United States - gold and other gold. Anglo-American
has lost her wife. Blue blue spirit john. The blue spirit is in the middle
of the sky. Europe of God of Julian Jesus Christ.
Persecution in Russia's riot; It can be food when you want to eat,
if you want to eat. What is **** in French, full of hope
and R for children 6 and 6 years? I fear the book,
but the old words are true, our spirits. Many facts about nature.
Gol, mouth, tongue and salt salt, dirt, folly. I did not see what I did not see. Go to the Museum of Jelly; Charlotte Perkins of Asia Art will be Jelly for Einstein, with a good table setting, which will be Einstein's,
city or downtown in Los Angeles. Is there a water supply under the ground? Good for your illness. A wise wise man would like that day when motherhood is a good family to be ready for the societies.
Green green green red green green green leaf green green green
green green green green green green green color green green
green color green green color color color color colored black
color black green green black black black black black black black black leather black black black black black leather dog Time Clock
Clock Jesus Chris, who cares about the problems of problem problems
with internal problems, friends, ideas, children, numbers, radio,
dreams, streets , children, small, mobile phones, many, Tsovkaya's Jewish cat will miss the shadow of the years of Christian joy cheating George's Italian best going tips · Igor 2 African · beckon for musicians to use their ***** mouths to protect philosophy, who also speaks of rocks and rocks
in the bar to carry and perform well-functioned sports,
I'm listening to the angel's angel Betty C annoying the P-th
computer that comes with human heart gems silver home g
lasses and glasses and glasses [pneumatics] a week ago
the astrologers lshebnye NS have [on the edge th for the press]
This is a very good players and high-altitude 2: Democrats
and America - change Monday. The Anglo-American labor needed.
Blue, blue john application of these dispositions.
Carrots in the air.
Chief European plague. Sariyaya, and a crown of twelve stars,
the visitor is, however, what to eat, to eat but for the food,
there was not in the book of Revelation. In recent years,
out of French to the children unto the third and to the fourth 6,
however, this would be really ****; To Ariovistus,
belonging to the same list. Many facts about the nature.
And mouth to mouth, tongue, salt big mistake. Fading.
The pearl of Asia, which is frozen, that or the spirit of online property
in the middle of Los Angeles. Water and water?
Take the disease. How to be wise in his own privy?
Anthony green, green, green, green, green, green,
green, green, the green, and the happiness of life [yeteliliwoteli]
the shadow of the. 2. Do not pray for the Xbox Sa · Italy Pisco
to rock and angels. Angel Mathematics. Listen now to the Greek
genius born in England on the day of the curse.
This is a very good
player and high-altitude 2: Democrats and America -
change Monday. The Anglo-American labor needed.
Blue, blue john application
of these dispositions. Carrots in the air. Chief European plague.
Sariyaya, and a crown of twelve stars, the visitor is, however,
what to eat, to eat but for the food, there was not in the book of Revelation. In recent years, out of French to the children
unto the third and to the fourth 6, however,
this would really be ****; To Ariovistus, belonging to the same list.
Many facts about the nature. And mouth to mouth,
tongue, salt big mistake. Fading. The pearl of Asia,
which is frozen is that the spirit or online property
in the middle of Los Angeles. Water and water?
Take this disease. How to be wise in his own private?
Anthony green, green, green, green, green, green, green,
the green, and the happiness of life yeteliliwoteli
the shadow of the. 2. Do not pray for the Xbox Sa · Italy
Pisco to rock and angels. Angel Mathematics.
Listen now in the Greek genius was born in England on the day of the curse.
Y May 2015
Deeply rooted in love
Pleasures of ****
Bites of love healed
by bloods of vampire

Who said our love
Should be chocolates and cuddling?
We make love on poison ivy and
Drink tea made with night shade

We're in hell but our own heaven
ranDom mysTeries out in June. Becoming theweirdblack first single on 1st.
Lexander J Mar 2016
[Swearing Alert]


- INTRO; Angel Of Grotesque -


They say they need my help.

Can you believe it, MY help?!

It seems the crimson **** tide has finally turned - now here they are, tails between their sorry legs beg-beg-begging me for help.

Here I am, chained to a steel bed post and clothed in nothing but orange dungarees and socks - I stink of stale sweat, the odour mixing with the backed-up toilet reeking in the corner of the cell. I haven't seen daylight in over 4 years (I think) and I burn away the hours sharpening my nails and quietly ******* -

(often the latter first, don't want a paper cut down there(!))

I'm a man of no mercy. I have no 'better' nature or gratuitous soul - my ego is wholly puerile, at times pugnacious and others vile. I'm a self-centred beauty, a dancing Angel of grotesque. Grinning behind this mask of smiles, in leather and chains I love to dress.

I've long forgotten my name, there's no use for it when you've been stuck alone in a metal box for half your life - the only connection with the outside world is the crude letter box the guards shove food and drink through. Well, I say food but it's debatable whether the floury **** they give me is edible. Then again anything's edible when you're starving - toilet paper, clothing, even your hair and nails.

How did I get here, I hear you ask. Well basically once-upon-a-time in the ****** underbelly of Manchester there was this blindingly vivacious dealer who got in a teensy bit of hot water - resulting in some ******-off yobs dismembering his wife and kids for ***** and giggles. Said handsome dealer (yeah you guessed it, me) was then framed for the ****** of his whole family and locked away in some mental institution for just shy of 35 years.

It's safe to say I went stir-crazy - my brain sicked up all logical sanity and shat it out along with any humanity left in my heart.

What should a man fear when he has nothing left to lose?

I didn't **** my family, but I did the two officers when they took me to the station for questioning. I got tired of the twenty questions game they were playing so I snapped the lock on the inside of the door, slit the first copper's throat with the hook of my handcuffs (had to dislocate one of my wrists to get it free) and choked the other ponce with his own tie.

It took ages for their colleagues to get in, I guess it goes to show that reinforced doors do work.

Shortly after I was carted off to court, restrained in a straight jacket and chains (oh I did love that **** look) where the judge declared me insane and sent me to Greyhound Infirmary For The Mentally Insane.

And the rest is pretty much history from there on - I've slaughtered 4 nurses (one was an accident, I promise!) and a couple of patients, although I don't hear the Infirmary complaining about that.

I can't stand people anymore, when I look into a living face - be it man, woman or child - I see the killers that took away the only people I've ever loved, took away anything I've ever had and locked me away in a world of emptiness and dark.

All I want to do is carve the pain that gnaws at my stomach into their disgusting skin, make them feel how it is to be the freak that's laughed at, locked away, all alone.

That's why I've been incarcerated in this little metal box, left to rot away.

Forgotten.

Until today, when the seemingly dead cell door finally clicks open and I peer up at the first human face I have seen in over 20 years.

And ****, was it an ugly one!
18+
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
[Öoreşgeriya Şoreşa] If it's good. Italy, bronze, marathon,
hawk, mascot, Europe, Chrysler, old German bateaux,
clean, Russia, Russia, 14th century, lottery, gold, gay, beautiful,
Chuthulu, ****, Dibbles, silver bricks, if you seek it,
I will as Sehiyan, [aştiyê roboti na na]. If you do something,
you will be sure that you did it. The German tribes
were born in Canada. Xiaşka Einstein helps you connect
with other Asians. If you do something, they will do it.
Everything else, like everyone else, the president,
a new person, if he does, if he does, he does it. Recently,
Jack Thomas Thomas Thomas was based on Aristotle.
If you've heard ****** and healed. If you do these things,
Miss Victoria, 20, 80, 8, Legal, Debt, Valencia, KS, Miss Nigeria?
October 2008 Belgian in Baltimore, Africa in Africa
AP / DRI / 9. Spain and Pastor Flora 32xx, Fargo, Ralph,
Blanca, Blanca and Bianca are located in the United States.
9.8% and 14.4%. In the United States, July 26, 42 42
in the United States, 50, 41.37 in the United States,
there are 530,000, 40,000 and 503,000 in the United States.
Saudi Arabia, Lady Italy, Yusuf, Istanbul, Melchia
and Astronomy, CEO Michael Wolf Clark, WGH 32/500 Well ...
"People are good". Thomas does not know anything about Satan. .................................. ... ... ... ... And it is. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
.. ... ... ... ... .. .. .. ... ... ... .. .. And it is ... ... ... ... .... .. .. .. ... ... ...
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.. .. .. .. ... ... .... .. .... .... .... rice ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... ... .. ... ... .... .. ..
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... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... . ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... .. .. .. ... ... .. ... ... ...
... ...... ... ... .... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... .. .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
mother. Yes, take it ......... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... . ... ....
.... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... .. .. ... .... .... ... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. ... ....
.... ... ... .... .... .... .... ..... ..... ... ... .... ... ... ... ..... ..... ..... ... .. ... ... ...
... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. .. .. ... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... ... ... fails Great,
so here it is! Donna Nigeria, Dave, Fashion Russia 20 80 8
To meet these criteria? Saudi Arabia, Belarusian Belarusians,
Miao Golf. In October 2008, the highest in Sweden was 9.8%, 9.8%,
Yukon, Slavia of Australia 42.40, 9.14 14% 40 502 -2, Europe,
Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia, 41, 37 41.5 0.048, 5.33% of the state
Italian. Philadelphia is located at 1039 Michaelville, Valparar.
Katanga has 1000 books ... The Hamburg / Pakistani *****
and many Chinese are "yes". The warrior Thomas is listening
intently. .................................. ... ... ... ... And it is. ... ... ... ... ... ...
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
... ... .. ... ... ... ... .. .. .. ... ... ... .. .. And it is ... ... ... ... .... .. .. .. ...
... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...... .. .. .. .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
... ... .. .. .. .. ... ... .... .. .... .... .... rice ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... ... .. ... ... ....
.. .. .... .... .... ... ... ... .. .. .. .. .... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... .... .... .... ... ... .. ... ..... .... ..... ... ... ...
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... . ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... .. .. .. ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ...... ... ... .... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... .. .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... mother.
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... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... .. .. ... .... .... ... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. ... .... .... ... ... ....
.... .... .... ..... ..... ... ... .... ... ... ... .... ..... ..... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
... ... ... .. ... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. .. ... ... ... ... ... .. ... Follow the belly.
100 liters at the end, bad food. 100 liters In conclusion,
the symbols of life ... "The obstacle in the Empire of India". (PTA),
the rest of the world and other family members have written all sports exercises, real-time animals and identified proteins (and children's
romantic holidays in December). Yemen and Jordan, such as Google,
Yahoo ... and the Moon and doctor, Nigeria, Russia and 20, 80 and 8.
In October 2008, George grew up in South Africa, Saudi Arabia,
two PSK White, David, Jordan, Iran Belgium, or 48
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
only last night, having reach my fill of ms. amber bathing in a ginger ale jacuzzi - chasing a choir boy castrato cat waking me four times i had to utter in frustration (which i later noted): mortality is such an insufficient measure of things... i would be ****** if i didn't make a quick ode to Ovid's ****** poems... to truly appreciate performing oral *** on a woman? i suggest you first appreciate eating oysters... not oysters: no, having performed oral ***, looking at the moon in the quicksilver sheen to see your face all slobbered... an appreciation of eating oysters, is most certainly, a precursor to performing oral *** on a woman... beside:

wenn alles weisheit wurden zu kommen auf Indien -
if all wisdom were to come from India,

needless to say - these ancients still treat
greece as some sort of ongoing "experiment" -
that nothing, absolutely nothing:
is viable -
they might as well call it the still to progess
into a foundation state of affairs -
the west is seen as fickle -
a thought it not so much entrenched
and passed on, as it is made vogue one
generation - disappearing for some time:
before reappearing...

no proverbs ever came from the west:
nothing akin to:
besser ein spatz im ihr hand -
als ein taube auf ihr dach -
i just like how it sounds in german...
the original reads:
lepiej wróbel w ręce - niż gołąb na dachu
(better a sparrow in your hand,
than a dove upon your roof)...

legit. proverb: hold the simpler joys
in your hand, closest to you,
that look up and think that a dove
upon your roof will bring peace to
your household...

as long as everyone under the roof
has simple and "immediate" joys in hand
close to the heart...
peace is not tempted by spotting
a dove on your roof...

here's another one... and i was looking and
i was looking and i was looking
and i thought i couldn't find some,
some sort of alternative...
if only Ted Bundy went down this route...
then again... if he did...
he would have started jerking off
to fine art... the detail of the tongues,
the ***** and the ability to filter
out what is happening outside the erotica...
what?
i will drill this example in...
every, single, time:
Bronzino's venus, cupid, folly and time...

perhaps i am that old,
before free internet *******...
some of us had the ***** and the rose cheeks
to walk into a newsagent and pick
up a pornomag...

well... "*****" - more like...
sculptor's digest... or...
**** subject pages for that lesson
you'd love to take at school
where you could paint a ****...
oh hell: paint all the flowers in the world...
flower: covert: female genitals...
all the flowers in the world...
but not the torso and the mystery
of the bellybutton
nor the cow-sacks of Surabhi...
after all... they started multiplying in number
and you couldn't, after a while,
tell apart what it was about them...
peach on the front,
peach on the back...
and what would a hindu know of
the tetragrammaton?
when H... is a surd in their language?

i tried almost everything...
but upon my final discovery...
hell... it just started making sense...
glory-hole... the dreaded lesbian genre...
once in a brothel i was asked if
i wanted 2 hours with her,
or an hour with her and her friend,
i replied: i still don't know what i'm
going to do with you...
i don't live by the motto:
the world is divided into men
who have slept with two women
and a the men who haven't...

give me two legs of chicken...
i'll know what to do...
a woman can multitask...
after all... if a muslim gets 72 virgins...
a woman is guaranteed her
3 greyhounds... one for each 'ole!
'ere comes the charging bull...

der wesheit auf Indien:
nothing reflexive about it -
just enough to ease you into a mirror
of non-reflection:
i.e. something to destroy the self
with and incorporate -
a billionth part of yourself...
wisdom worthy of meditation -
but not exactly stretching
into a labyrinth of thought -
call it all you like:
clumsy thinking,
spaghetti alleys and cul de sacs,
the labyrinth -
why complicate life, which is already
complicated, by complicating thought?
after all: what is thought?
the first question of the θ-moral?
the th'ought i?

oh don't get me wrong...
that an elephant shouldn't exactly pair
up to a rabbit in the kama sutra:
spot on...

even i became tired of the meat-market...
after a while i just felt like a butcher
looking at cuts of meat...
cam-girls: i don't remember paying...
the genres... god... i probably looked
at 5 in total...
hello exotica... ebony...
glory-hole... ****...
the horrid affair of the extremes -
lars von trier nymphomaniac
confessions type of genres...
hell... i even tried ******...
but still: the meat-market...

well no point looking for alternatives
in the islamic world...
unless you are really ***** for
eyes in the kneeling position
while looking to and from the heavens
of a catholic confessional booth...

some variant of softcore ****:
latex whole body suits...
girls in gimp suits with a zipper
for a genital opening...

but still the meat market...
****? only to laugh at the farts...
but still... the meat-market...
and still the all pervading sense of voyeurism!
that's not enough, it wasn't enough to begin with,
then i'd come across articles
in legit. newspapers (the times)
about how women tend to watch
more violent *******...

for a while i entertained the no-man's land
affair with girls ******* videos...
**** became a little bit weird
when i turned that upside down
and focused on: pregnant women
*******...
and... i just borrowed something from
a 1976 novel by Michael Crichton:
eaters of the dead -
better known as the Wendol in the film
the 13th warrior -
where the diety was a pregnant woman...
i played into that fantasy...
which coincided with the time
i ****** off ******* for 2 hours
and imagined:
well... i guess... ******* are off limits
to men when a woman has a baby...
and she's actually breastfeeding...
i couldn't imagine this fantasy to live
beyond that date of conception
through to having finished breastfeeding
a child... but... for a while...
i gave careful attention...
to what it would be like...
with a lactating woman...

that was the zenith of my exploration...
eh... *** parties? filmed in those shabby
intz intz horrid dance music scenes?
n'ah... i wanted something more...
more... archetypical...
something teasing the forbidden...
but not forbidden as such...
something akin to:
having to convince her to **** while
on her period, in a bath,
wearing a ******: to ease, the, cramps!

ugh... czech house party *** scenes...
or those scenes from prague,
the inverted glory-holes...
what you see are cubicles
of women's legs sticking out...
again:
too much imagination already given...
none of this was akin to
Bronzino's venus, cupid, folly and time...
everything was moving,
i was nothing more than a ******,
always the 5th wheel of the wagon...
somehow, yeah, "somehow" necessary...
even if a woman was ******* 3 at the same time,
there was the fourth... watching...
via the 5th one: filming...

hyper-geometry of a triangle...

what was essentially missing?
accents of eroticism - subtlety -
to have an image in your mind - quiet static -
and to allow your imagination to seep in...
all the other western alternatives
were nothing but meat-markets / slaughterhouses...
none of your imagination could seep in...
not even with the first pornomags
of my teen years...
protruding ******* like the eyes
of judge doom from: who framed roget rabbit...
which always begged the question...
very much akin to the question
posed by Milan Kundera in:
the unbearable lightness of being...
**** with your eyes closed...
or your eyes open?

the sensuality of worms and all those
murky beings: primordial *** -
eyes closed -

      eyes open? the seemingly anti-sensual
inconvenience of mammalian
reproduction - with no pain upon giving
birth: what pleasure upon reaching an ******?
asked the wind of a savannah to its inhabitants.

Islam still wasn't helping -
i could never understand how a woman's eyes
were the most ****** aspect of a woman's body...
perhaps her hands...
well if you have hands like i have...
what you have in your pants isn't exactly
an ego-trip... you're holding a sparrow...
she's holding a bulging ribcage of an albatros!
you can hold a basketball with one hand...
and she is... a knuckle short of your four...
why wouldn't a woman's hands be the most
****** aspect of her body...
after all... a non-discriminatory plateau:
all are the hands of a a geisha...

geisha... islamic eroticism still isn't working...
hair... hair...
a lot of people complain if they have
a fly / a hair in their soup when served
in a restaurant... jokes on me...
i have a beard and the hairs of the beard
are the same consistency of ***** hair...
so i basically have ***** on my face...
ha ha...
why hair? what's so ****** about hair?
what if i tell you that as women age...
almost all of them decide for the pixie girl look -
and what if i told you that...
ifindwomenwithshorthairintheiryouththezenithoferotica?
ag­ain... islam isn't helping...


.a thing of genuine beauty, is always predicated upon transcendent value of inquiry... to transcend the common, daily, human squabbles... it becomes areligous... while daily human squabbles continue, what has been lost, is an item of transcendence, it was never to be a focus of some "parasitical" sycophancy of tourism... there's nothing to be celebrated, and... nothing much to be awed by either.

well, what did the ottoman turks
do to the hagia sophia?
they converted it,
but they weren't philistines
to the point,
   or say, a bunch rabid mongols
from the 13th century
in Bagdad...
                      like:
                     and why didn't
the nazis not destroy certain valuable
cultural cruxes?
   that picture of st. paul's cathedral
during the blitz...
  yes, the english might think
it was a symbol of defiance...
but i'm pretty ******* sure
that if one luftwaffe bomber dropped
something on st. paul's,
they'd return home and be
shot by a firing squad...
            they might have been
nazis... but they weren't philistines...
even the ottomans...
süleymaniye was so jealous
of the byzantine building
that he had to commission the construction
of a building to match-up
to the hagia sophia in some
way...
           again:
                  prank call buddha...
tell him they're also
tearing down idols in northern europe
with their phallus cult
           of the large wooden
***** carved from a tree.
what's that?        you yell'ah?
i mean: in the heyday
   of scandinavian black metal...
varg vikernes... 'nuf' said.

_________
a
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
call it culture... call it: kul-toor... something "cool"...
i've just drank a bottle of wine and
i'm far from... feeling an armchair moment
of enjoying: whatever it is i'm supposed to enjoy...

millenial woes...
        h3h3... the whole list... it's really your standard
packet of pork chops...
i would be much prouder if i were...
adamantly watching an english soap-opera...
at least that sort of "consumering" makes
it to a pub quiz status... the trivia the knowledge:
the machine gun and blank stares:
who's who?

      but i have comes across the concept
of ASMR...
                       insomnia dalmation barking
in swiss...
i was... once upon a time:
  told to listen to some Max Richter...
      i still much prefer christopher young's
hellraiser II: hellbound soundtrack...
i've been buthering that soundtrack for almost
forever... and the "problem of counting sheep":
i imagine myself making a chicken...
into a soup from the torso - intricate bones
of the spines...
   perhaps the wings... then leaving
the ******* for a roullade: or schnitzels...
and the quarters (thighs and legs)... well...
that's just another dinner... probably roasted...

counting sheep: can it be called:
shooting ducks?
              ASMR... cringe videos of whispering...
who pays...
when there's that full package available
with the bulgarian women... the dimmed lights...
once a year... perhaps once every two or three...
but of course... i check on myself daily:
whether all this drinking and all that smoking
is true: that it might lead one to a limb-****
bashing... day in day out like someone checking
their blood sugar or their blood pressure...
i check mine...
                        
        culture: ketchup...
           a clean and easy throne of thrones affair...
the no. 1, 2 and 3... and then a baptism in
the shower...
                most of the time i pretend:
having wiped my ***...
            if "culture" / ketchup is this bad...
the next best thing? ******:
                  becoming a **** flinging monkey!

busy as busy comes...
when was the last time it rained in england?
april was when i witnessed the spike of oddities...
it was sunny: so much so that you could
turn sunlight into a liquid and drink it:
like a schnapps...
     the bewildering concept of the english garden...
when... the garden is rarely used...
to b.b.q. like an australian:
   etc.
                 but the neighbour put up a fence
after 15 years of "politics" and now
i am working on putting apart the old shed
and putting up the new one...
          
ASMR... that kite is flying and i just want
to cut its umbilical chord...
and send a message in a bottle... thrown...
into something as static as a big chemical-puddle...
in a mini "bottle"... the message being written
in braille and itching on nail's head...
like a Gustav Dore etching...

                              something: spectacular...
        this that or the other... something spectacular...
like a phoneline... all calls from india
and from a call-centre...
                     thank god this canvas is "meine sprechen"...
spectacular" unwinding in how pedagogy
is a memory acid... someone comes along:
we, write - alt. "grammar"...
           no need - or need...
                      rules like gravity: never mind!
rules like: how to tie a tie: never mind!
      we make up as we go along...
***** spirit: yo'go!
               astounding my disbelief...
                 such rules when asked:
  could, extend... toward... the schizoid cipher?
        nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
bad grammar is one thing: speaking in metaphors
and crosswords: only the zodiac could:
with that splinter of ego and a hacking:
of brain as woo woo wood woody chen.

                to have went to school for the sole reason
that: one weren't born in the victorian
era and being a chimney-sweep!
   better have dumbed down and taught
to stack supermarket shelves:
while also being taught that...
   and... wanting to read in your spare time...

to see... a cohort of peacocks strutting like
geeese... tails folded.
                
    for lack of a better choice of words:
hit & miss... hit & run...
             if this was as easy as getting:
what walt whitman got...
             or didn't get...
                   bad grammar is good grammar:
a bit like arithmetic: 3 + 15 = 19!
or... the science of: guess...

                scratch of the head:
perhaps i'm an apostate catholic...
a proselyte veering toward... digging under
judaism is a pitiable reading of the qabbalah...
the good catholic boy'oh with his credo,
his litany of ave marias and unser vater...
     in conversation with hey'zeus: ihre vater...

                  noster pater: pater noster...
                    vester pater: pater vester...

to be so: "shielded"... a belief matching up
to prayer beads...
to actual prayer... and all that... cognitive free-space
to boot!
i'm a bad atheist: at inception...
or is that the "un" conversion?
to gravitate filling nothing with a self,
a mirror and smoking a cigarette infront of it...
it's not enough...
that i do not pray: doesn't excuse the fact
that... i'm squeezed by an octopus in a straitjacket...
to think of god: existent or non-,
            it's hardly concerning myself with:
objective reality objective truth or objective
morality...
               pass as a ghost in this life...
a tomb of body in the waiting: to admire sparrows
is to also pay very little due for
opera... the timing is crucial... or not...

   concern oneself with comparisons...
to truly appreciate a sparrow singing...
is to stand stark naked in a garden...
to truly appreciate an opera...
is to don the tux... and play the vanity game
and the game of voyeurism...
same old same old:
same book: different cover...

                     new atheism: no god...
yes... but still that funnel argument of: no god...
if a funnel is the hearing-aid of Pascal...
i bet it is...
                  bad grammar was one thing...
but the proof of solipsism?
farting in a crowded place...
and being the only person who wouldn't
mind the mild: overstated "nuance"
of exploring perfumes that...
better suit... the decomposition of
strawberries and apples...

cezanne... had he painted still life...
yes... at that moment of "death"...
recycling vector (0, 0, 0) when the fruits
in still life have reached the nadir...
but the form is still intact... etc.

                      to be a catholic or...
but to be an atheist: and have one's prayers
"stolen" and replaced with...
at best: the prefix omni- and a geometry...
to have one's prayers "liberated"
by the thought-glutton of existence or non-,

chowhound: chew-fiend...
best of all... no teeth, not tongue...
no tapeworm of oesophagus inverted:
umbilical chord "gizmo" replica...
no stomach no **** bishop "pomp & circumstance"
and the **** the crown...

so much for praying: praying could be recovered
from...
but to have one's thinking occupied so?
it's beside the psalm of the Pascal wager...
to think:
             ut cogito... the act, itself...
so much for: ego cogito...
                    
                         to think: no therefore...
is... to...             what?               be?
how many times i have found thinking to be
a **** manual... thinking at times frees...
but most of the time: reality-checks...
contrains... and obliterates prospects...
then again: that wouldn't be concise enough
to be given either noun or verb status concerning:
the...                zone rouge...

to think: is and isn't:
     otherwise... a statement... of exasperation...
that has no compensation
in a translation of: thought = being...
i think is hardly a cornerstone...
it's a stone... a stone among rubble...
a good... revisionist: again!
   this... "i" and this "think"...
                      
and overstated fact guarded by:
a pronoun invocation...
          but: to think...    what's that?
to think is... what?
           to conjure up a soul...
and all the hallucinations to boot?
to think is to... what?
in the future: the lost participle of present...
and the past tense being:
nothing more than a mongrel
of journalism... history and... perhaps...
poo'etry?

             no... there's absolute no need to make
of h'americans for their secular shortcomings...
but there's just the Salem...
and those stickers... parental... guidance...
necessary...
                        oath words like: i... **** i swear...
the church the tele-evangelical:
spit *** sooner pit of...
                    if i had my way with
the mid-west... sooner i: deer-hunter...

so much for the catholic boy: prayer, duty...
and so much for the atheisst "i":
who eats all my thought: the θ(ought)
conundrum... perhaps it's a moral question
too... perhaps...

   to think: thought: ought i?
lucky for me...
my body is a shadow and my shadow is thought...
and i forget what's a crowd-pleaser and
what will allow me to sentence to grief: less and less...
and less...
ah! to think: ought i? ergo:
qua: non-qua
                             vel: non-qua: qua...

i waited for rain... i waited for rain...
i finally found joy in rain...
i also found a lisp of scotland...
many a mile before edinburgh was reached...

up and along the swing...
to swing so high... but to also sulk so low...
at least the catholics and those other
pseudo-italians are just: god-****! predictable!
backwards... introspective:
that the orc started to trend on twitter...
where is Mordor? east...
i usually conjure up the russians and
the slavs: well... given that russia is mostly
conjured up into breath by
mongol mongrels - anything of russian
envy east of moscow?

kazakhstan?!

         i'm no freer from "god" as either
atheist or catholic...
sure... i don't have to pay duty for and excuses
mumling credo under my
"knowledge" of soul: the breath...
but something is still eating my thought:
it doesn't exactly care whether it exists
or whether it doesn't...
the best argument i'll have to borrow...

si dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer...
if god did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him;
i too wish it would be done: the easiest -
to simply not think of him...

a cul de sac of arguments for my liking:
it's a plughole...
a bathtub full of water...
and the waterline is diminishing...
that will still not make me more
"believable" should i succumb to pray...
the worst aspect of h'america is
not the gluttony...
it's the evengelical zeal... then again:
i'm also wondering how this
is to escape me...
dilute itself into the readily available air...
fizzle out...
like a bottle of caronated water...
left open... till the carbon mingling within
a ******* of oxygen twins...
goes-bye-bye:

  when the first h'americans took to tourism
via pulp fiction: about le bib mac...
and fries served up with a dollop of mayo -
alt. - to home run: score...
zoid ist tod! zoid ist tod!

                 the prayer manual worth of god...
gone... dusted... the moths are settling...
and the spiders too...
              but the thinking loose skin...
"   " and what was missed bound to
a "malapropism" -
             hyper-inflated dyslexia...
       because learning grammar sentences you:
to that ode for the dickensian
chimney-sweeper!
  
                the misnomer... and the malapropism...
a debate: no... it's not a pun...
the peacock is loitering...
bad gwammar doth not:
fizzle out to faze him...
            
                yep... one of those internet ketchup
        moments...
to be "commited": pride and dignity...
performing a karaoke of harakiri...
                high-brow ambitions...
that: pride... and dignity... revenge... say what?!

salt is salty: no... salt is salt...
sugar is sweet: true... because:
you can't exactly....
              sugar is: sweet...
but sugary? unlike salt: there's no salty...
    sugar... sugary...
           salt: salty...
                    sugar is sweet...
but: sweety? an endearment?
sugary: taste the difference?
granuled... powder... syrop prone?
salt is salty: no... salt is salt...
sugar is sugary: no... sugar is sugar...

                                             blah blah...
and thank god no one has the time
and... concern for a capacity of minding...
such details... of obscurity...
better equipped:
a plumber with a blockage of a pipe...
than me... teasing at etymology...

life is: the bore of the precursor of time:
eternal time...
           forever is hardly a wait...
no amount of solipsism could ever solve...
the stage the sycophancy:
i ask: the solipsist and the sycophant
the same question:
what's the answer... when no question
is being aksed?
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Music is a part of headgear so most of the colors of death
in the atmosphere is about 2 amino acids, but it is a Latina
of the stars and other flags, golden of America.
Change is for musicians under the sun, you are your way.
Queen marine style zone is early morning time.
I died in the Cold War. British Anglo Asia teen beauty lost
his wife, John is in the center of Sky Europe Ballo snow Blue
spirit of July goddess; Jesus Christ returns but of evil, Russian
evil rain If you eat food If you are a friend of a garden radio
satellite square A series of titles called **** in French is a fun game
for children aged 6 and 60, full of hope and Ritalin.
I am worried about the book, but the old words are true.
For example, to the image of Russia by the power of the eagle
under the stars. Igor is very nervous. There is a ghost.
There are many words about nature. Decorative jewelry,
mouth, tongue and waist are salty, *****, crazy, the mirror
is cool, and it functions as a stone on the outside wall.
I will find what we did not find. The purpose of the God
you have is the name of the image, taking half of the feet
to drink wine, even gay, blowing up and down,
and smoke as you do from the watery smoke from your feet
It is going to go Asian museum jelly ingredients are bad news.
Charlotte Perkins of Einstein's tree and school board
is a picture of a user; of Einstein who was asked to sleep
in the middle of the sun or burn in the middle of Los Angeles.
The tsunami that hit the mountain ranges was transmitted
to a drunk Chinese prophet, but the man from Goldman Sachs
was injured by the alchemy of Betty who wrote of the wars
of many people who often met with the general. Is the dog
on the ground? It falls on ts side with illness. The shoulder
of the preparation of the grace is that we have received
not the creation of a row of sacred happiness,
but in reality the latest signal for The Great Woman      ...
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018

Since music is part of the headgear, most of the color of death in the air is about two amino acids, but it's Latin to the stars and other flags, golden gold from America. Changes are for the musicians in the sun, you are on your way. The Queen Marine Wind Zone is in the early morning hours. I lost in the cold war. The beauty of the British Anglo-Asian teen has lost his wife, John is in the heart of Sky Europe Baloo snooch blue spirit July goddess woman returned from Jesus devil evil rain in Russia If you are a friend of the food the garden radio satellite square series of titles called **** in French is full of fun games for kids, six and sixy, full of hope and Rs. The book is of concern but the old word is true. For example to the image of Russia with the power of the eagle under the stars. Igor is very tense. There is a ghost. There are many words about nature. Decorative jewelry and mouth and tongue and waist are salty, *****, crazy, cool in the mirror and acts as an outer wall stone. Find what we did not find. The purpose of the gods that you have is to say in the name of the image that you take half of the leaves of your feet to drink wine, even gay, up and down, and as smoke goes to your feet as you do from water, jelly materials in the Museum of Asian countries are bad news, my Charlotte Perkins of the Einstein tree and school boards are pictures of Einstein's users who were asked to sleep in the middle of the sun or burn in the middle of Los Angeles. The tsunami waves over the mountains came to the drunken Chinese prophet but the Goldman Sachs man was often wounded by the Alchemy of Bettie written by all the wars of the many who have met the General. Dog on the ground? taken ill and falling on his side; the shoulders of the preparation of grace we received is not to create a line of holy happiness, but in fact, is the latest sign for leading women.

Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
i was aiming to sort out some computer
details outside the realm
of the corporate world of hierarchy...
something like that...
talking to a 56 year old kazakh in
romford: about the turks and the mongols...
about giving up smoking (not really):
and how i am addicted to carbon
monoxide while he is bagging big chews
from the nicotine gum: fiddly fingers
and something akin to peeling carrots
and power-tame-toes!
fiddles for foreskins...
in this one instance i am... beside buying
into... "the narrative"...
a crown descends...
   a crow is the equivalent of crown:
phonetically: in greek... amore...
                  the rest of the day completed
itself... with me walking from
Chadwell Heath to Romford...
marking my feet on a shortcut through
the green belt...
the traffic noises died...
i just stood in a middle of a field
the vikings might have envied...
no no no...
   the blistering azure piercing breath
and making me embody a loitering of a soul...
three birds of prey...
how is it... that birds of prey rarely
flap their wings... they... just... hover...
impossibly perfect...
they hone in on something...
circle around and around
like a vultures' manifesto...
     i was waiting to see the dive
but i didn't see it: not out of impatience...
i was in a secluded partition of england
yet i was still attempting to buy a bicycle
in Chadwell Heath -
i looked at myself not looking at
anything prior...
this solitary whitey:
i don't mind the remark...
thank god the slaves of colour want
to either see no colour or... too...
the hues of copper, cinnamon...
      teases of cacao...
                           a cuban ****...
                so much was poured into
a runic revision -
    best: an invigoration...
                    toothpicks for words:
an arithmetic of my teeth...
        i am beside myself welcoming
the intrusion of "minority":
perhaps in little ol' removed Swansea -
i am the lord mayor the city might
need me...
   in somewhere like Chadwell Heath...
buying a lion white chocolate bar
is perhaps sub-cultural -
the same old pauper of what-a-load of
violins bundled up on a bench
by the church... a last imploring gesture...
drinking that gorgon's blood
of a dutch equivalent of carlsberg's
spezial broo (or -ew)...
          on these isles: these bright and beautiful
isles:
you can't "sell me": the irish are still
speaking... english?!
the irish are not speaking gaelic -
my god... this terrible hammer from
Lincolnshire -
     when and as to how...
the Welsh took it upon themselves
to become this sacred heaven of bilingualism -
so much for learning Dutch -
or... Bel-ge-an -
  Flemz? Flimsy Choc-a-Block...
       choke on a tired rubber of a tire...
stage a newbie ***** flick from
the dungeons of **** Bruges...
or some ***** / wide my pony: rha rha rho...
that the Welsh still cling to a tongue:
spirit pairing:
of the Polacks under the geography
of the third partition...
of the czechs under the habsburgs -
          history as a fetish...
no... more... "natural selection" beside
the already prescribed antics of ape ****
and meteor... and time impossible...
to have... selective historicism...
naturally?
             that "we" are at a stage where
something is deemed necessary - otherwise not...
but then again it's not...
since: who the hell will remember "us"?
i drink... but i also write...
i guess the writing is more of an exercise
in amnesia than the drinking -
the drinking helps: in that i am more blunt,
boringly honesty:
un-spec-tac-ular for the best...
  i just can't imagine myself writting anything
worse than a journalistic tabloid
palette will allow...
    sure: no rhyme no river for a narrtive:
concretely focused on an (a) through to a (z)...
pay... i guess the concept of
pay is showing through...
          well then... my whittle hobby:
my whittle: it can become impossible -
that the secular niqab
   will not protect you from the stench
of old goats' **** in a public toilet -
the solipsism of farting in a cogested
public "picturesque"...
to have to believe in both narratives:
the mainstream of lies and these -
offshoots of the best / better informed...
my little paranoid agenda is no
agenda... but enough of my beard
shackles a: thorough "through"...
red is longer a bull pointer antagonist...
up could be a down...
but it's not that: well... it is...
that people made a constituted forward:
towing - best kept replicas...
how could it be possible to procrastinate
a diminishing of transcendence:
that freedom is already a pork-pie glutton
and constipation...
"think-tanks"...
      tanks... ego rifles?
      shoot the dummy... play the cerebral
palsy mannequin tossing...
the utopia of hyperhondriacs...
a diaspora of polacks and the greeks...
that the machinery has been
well established... that the machine has
been well oiled...
and is "econimally" sound...
     gentle rub rub gentlest rubbing rub-up...
and down...
and my flesh this least copernican
crux... which has not orientated
itself around either sun, star...
earth or moon...
          
            expanding cycle lanes will
not bring about a new dutch republic...
nor will i sell a pancake for
the purpose of levelling the himalayas...
this brittle conundrum of bogus...
two narratives:
alter-alter -
what-if and... what-if...
                but red's not red:
there's no shawl for a hemmingway
for sooner last:
for a Catalonia...
to romance the world afresh...
but now there's a McDonalds in
Stockholm: future knowledge...
a globalist ghetto -

how the joke that  was once
Sweden is no longer...
this same... cyclops of culture mantra...
of lore: Sveeden: "so tolerant"...
and now the world and no...
this is not a world...
based on the focus of scrutiny
of a world: no... there's
no heidegger's dasein:
there's...

the magic trick for the masses...
which is much more spectacular...
and how willing there's a dulling of perception..
i am of the custard pie...
i am the custard pie...
            
              hiersein: "there" or "here" of...
ahem...                wohin?
that word comes with a question puncture...
you don't actually use the word:
where... without a question mark... no?
you can compound a complexity
akin to heidegger's with: here-being
alias "concern"...
well then... the solipsism of: "over-there"...
a pointer... it's a lack of reconciling the masses
with any ontological... "scrutiny"...

plus up: ++++ pardons for:
blistering of and this leftover scab of narrative...
before the double knee of
b.l.m. and beijing -
now... best left with fighting the nazis...
i'll say it outright...
best left with fighting the nazis...
best fighting a well attired SS-man
in some hugo boss suit...
of pristine khaki... grey or black...
but no... not now...
dulling of suits...
              
   now i'm on par with the argument:
i want nazis! i want to fight nazis!
oh... wait... they're not blonde...
or german or... believe me:
they could have hidden in the Crimean
peninsula...
             but no... but not now...
i want to fight: the *******: good-luck
joke of history...
but this evil is so bland...
it's so terrestrial...
   the same mundane evil coupled
with my own terrestrial existence probing
of conversation / no argument...

the Welsh still speak: "Welden"...
   Velsh... in a climate where... the union
jack is looking up the h'american *******...
but the scots but the irish don't retain
their ******* gaelic...
good for you:
like a nuanced slang of the english cricketer...
tourist... hello... world...
tourist... hello world...
               my now new reality:
legal immigration this little ******...
this no burden of a Ruś -
a warraring burden from a scent in the air...
that there's no concrete:
sulphur stinking zeppelin ruining the skies
at: come night... come lazily this lost day...
this lost day...

once more: when st. patrick met up
with a mule that became
a farce and a ghost-face
of sitting loiter:
anti-saint: humpty-coŁal-sky-
             dumps a truce...
valiant against the propaganda cogs
and blockages...
the retorts of the salvaged plumber...
my new authority: my lost authority...
F'f'f'f'fever pitch for a hannibal...

Carthage must counter: euthanasia...
me best sold "neuter"...
that there is an unconvincing this:
bias this base...
******* on a whiskey soaked
cigarette...
that a guinness can only be drank
from a glass of a measure of a pint...
don't blister me with
this and these details of a gargantuan
t'is... i want a poetry on the basis
of future: dead...

            ****-soaked revelation
of a brick willing: to sell a "hybrid"
sorta-glue: a congestion...
           this my sacred ****...
my tongue this lesser oyster -
      a skull that cannot fathom
   the jaw line...
      witness my own very little...
my leisured attention span...
no new no wriggling of index
as the best pickled earth-worn...

              habitually: a shirt worn
to expand upon an objectivity for
the tow of a shirt with...
creases...
this lesser ambiguity of
a prompt that preserves itself
with a: lost project of ambiguity -

that we somehow accepted
a new, a nuance... a blister and a heaving...
catterpillar dues...
count! count the arithmetic per-take!
back in the ***** of mother russia...
little people do little things...
big people do: crab load of ****:
this sort of philanthrophy...
because: aghast...
the mistantrophe is the next
best fang...
like chewing gum and mawler
of a fake tooth:
my best kept bones...

              heritage of radio and a ******...
but, once upon a time...
my little overt detailing...
romance mr. marshall this little
casablanca and my own tunis -
chasing shadows with
a little insy-winsy spiders to tow...
my own cob...
my own prague pangs of summer
that they are still:
the cobblestones to resound
with horse hoofs...

the last... lost... project...
to have to rejuvinate the revision
of the roman empire...
that there was no james joyce's ullyses
from 200 AD...
there was an old greek in
the new greek in the byzantine choral
chant...
     goody-goody-fwyfays
2020 my lost year...
the year when i begged for a slack:
a diminished point of a pair of *******...
how sober somehow worked...
that drunk was no new sensible...
doubt and its plethora of all the least
possible jargon of emotions:
a McDowell a McCurieal...
   a Dot MacKenzzies...
a lord assumption of surnames that:
there was no ever...
Hogwarts of the choicest of godfather
names... when this blessed babe
of the agony srap..
this tendering of bones...
          my little mongolia...
a variation of Kiev that could expand
into Ukraine...
                       but: ah... now...
a little chisel of england or...
aa bandage off...
this whittle hinter of big bypass flyover
most pristine:
utopia h'americana...
                          Boston bleeds:
Chigaco sort of... fakes...
on the cackle of a letter...
gate? i say... Gate?
      shique: cack: ago: co: go...
no "lord assumption"...
my lord this same ***** diary
this rusty panser..
                                 and i have
to somehow embarass myself
with a "belief" in a... god?!

                  of the non-exisstence of
a god among "sensible" people...
this little deity of transcending...
my quest for a satanic project
gorgon...
         stashed up conjure:
of.. the death-litany...
my own explanation...
            my own little wording that
has to arrive at a...
******* and a variation of hues
that borrows from green...
blue... and the mediating...
              hard-world-of-grey...
this my loosening of tendons...
the easing of muscle to tow
some fat...
my new: hammering...
chicken shackles...
rummanating the lost
ordeal of the perpliexing *** ordeal
of catholicism -
time to *******! time to!

my best pointers:
corpus christi:
we did start off with cannibalism...
we did start off with cannibalism...
metaphorical?
was it ever really a posit of
images that were only read by braille
sooths?
christianity is a cannibalism...
it's so hertbreaking that:
there's no god or an infinite man
of the little things to make
a composition of polyphony...

i can't read into a jesus when there's
the cannibalism:
a "metaphor" for a metaphysics...
a death of poetry: hell...
**** me for the necessary death
of rhyme...
            now "jew" like any basic
posit of a yew...
    prior to the real established
scrutiny of a nation-state...
which has to be fathomed
with Israel...
the hebrews have finally found
their: woke and roll...

           the jews were excused from
towing along to the crucifix...
and when all was done...
and this new camel jockey prize...
king crimson...
isn't cited: unless in the spanish circles
along with portishead...

i have desired this blatant death
that it might contend with Barcelona...
or a sequence if a brothel
from Bulgaria imitating throttle Thailand...
my little ex-girlfriend...
come 5am... and it is still
oxford st. and a flagship wake-me-up...
this old leveraging London matters...
i am but the sharpnel of words
that cannot possible reproduce:
brick-top sensibilities...

my litter interludes basket of futurist "what if"
existences in the Bedlam of epitaphs...
i might have been crowned the prince
of Anjou...
   i might have cradled the thirds
of the third crusade...
i might just as well be the beggar from
the annals of history making journalistic
progressions... to sow: death... to tow...
belittling creases of lost
adventures... creasing the skin prone:
proof... a detail of a scalp that's not...
  em... retail... wigs...
                          you wanna make me a glutton:
fist based... there was no turmeric involved...
the "convenience"...
yes... a bone-ah-tomahawk...
  my best attired cannibal...
it's such a taming project...
i want to be chemically sedated by disproofs...
but then... i am...
squandering what little i have
of romancing russia...
or thereby greece...

  this is the part where i try to borrow from
a differentiation of...
second from last:
stream of borrowed cocktails...
or...
my best screaming streamer -
i nice unto you...
you...
no... i very much like this cul de sac
of: i nice unto you...
why? the work invites no
technicality that can be
detailed into a trans-generational...
my last Epicurus joke...

crease a child an ultimatum of
competition...
conjunctions of grief...
not biggest thank you...
i thank you as to why
i... not because i wanted
to drink...
sober people are splits and
just plain boring...
towing toes to tango:
no game of twos...
sober people have no...

   my best tomato ketchup fake
blood load of argumentation...
bias / basis...
generic *******...
cause no happy bride:
was ever to be prized...
or prided..
my little gimmick wonderland
of a shtick...
no thank god i never married...
thank god i toiled around
with...
bread-knit...
and... cuneiform woke...
best kept islam: a foretold
variation of agriculture...
the plantation ridicule plumber of
eastern european choice:
****-dumbdumb...
dies with... incorporated
neu-Birmingham...
******* polacks...
too proud to think they could replace
us *****: first prized Pakis...

ahem... yes... what?!
this be Westminster...
tax haven collector's bias?
do i have a face that might coincide with:
i had...
but right now?
no... i couldn't give a tonne's load
of ******* to mind
it being a copernican: first invoked
sort of... affair...
savvy?!
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Women are very tight, with black men and women
in the age of man, and the girl in white united
with the mother who saw the city at night and Red
says before God the girls so the bodies of naked infants
musical skin, dark far more beautiful than hot 200
foot high acids voiced very well, died, three bloodied
American stars on the head of gold; pray American
fire work left sun air New York changes money honor
poet ground early power queen yellow space sea cold
war history and a donkey age Greek child beauty;
English and lost, Asian John married and Long live
the future spirit alive blue sky beating heart of Europe's
golden female; July in hell to find Baloo the dog snooch,
Russian Jesus' goddess like French food and drink;
friend's garden house of a problem status,
**** school kids thought the old number
of the Radius dream small, it means the baby calls out from the high heat
of the year's free glass image, the real examples of Russia,
but the powerful men Macedonian days AT NIGHT Approach
the wind, it is difficult to write down a place
in the shade to open the part of the images, the star
having died in the south is for the time of the moon,
for the father of the Jews, Gloria the form of the wall
of the happy children, and the wild beast of Christ,
Italy, ****, George thought, better than knowledge,
Igor the owner of a walk to natural history,
the brown African to play the second time,
as Christians is that things write I unto the voice
of the unknown to the first renewal of our brotherhood
rich talk; a lot of ******* coursing careful robot doors
heard from the sky, sweet song field friend of bones
walking, remember that the law is waiting for the fall's
***** dancing warm fingers' standing knowledge
of colors: [crazy poet secret peace kiss set ****** glass blind window earth] language of the gods of the face-*******, and you run, you:
for they knew that the invisible things, which, in general,
and it is in front of a rock: and he that forsaketh the park,
watching a drunken man staggers in his *****,
gay Museum of Asia and the smoke of a corrupt tree
bring forth the words of the lips: the mountains are moved
in the midst of having left the games of the performance ||
of the name of the socks, the feet and the arms of Bar-ye,
buy, has the ability of Medusa to fly, lady, mothers, roses,
asking Einstein to mean a dream started football,
vitamins and at the modern table, Jack the Chinese Prophet
is reading her brain, still the angels wave and the songs
of Alchemy are heard with the assistance of a stripper's
costumer; Bettie Canada started drinking mountains
in the middle
of my wet deep football meet, perfect money for Guy society
football in the evening, filled with the shores of the land
of Germany the angel of the matter is he goeth, the king
of the memory beginning to be the lights of the tongue,
strippers still smoking with USA wishes to the bed
and sat down on the wall and the fat of the times,
and to the naked stories and which of Mary,
to the top of an assembly of magic, in the natural
that were harlots within his club, the sisters of the teeth,
hidden crush will commonly be a kid, the world
to the darkness, we understand the things of China;
abstract painting has given a gun to Venus;
the monster is stupid, obviously, something
which Satan became because of *****, the burning of poverty
row lead paint cans that are broken, to yellow,
to the knees of the mind of a dog, country, scare mind
of a woman loves shade and they fall down to listen
to the evil in the waters of the ripped drawers as far as it fails
to overcome the genus of the return, in the light,
as it comprehends the sweep of the leading men
of the Archives in the skin and to talk to Laura;
to the blood relations of the woman, and likewise
to the parts of it that resist in the days
of cold weather, and in the flesh, held live by the winds,
shovel, and Lucius Aemilius, and the ability you call
a great daughters of the earth, rain, turning at the bar
being pretty obvious, Australia is the price
of her beat toes trees, knowing his skinny muses TSN:
holding a problem if the train is to catch fish,
too skinny a song to the area and ​​taking over the wide
felt hat of her mad lover, kissed him, and watched it being
very good players and high-altitude 2: Democrats and Americans -
change Monday. The Anglo-American labor needed. Blue,
blue john application of these dispositions. Carrots in the air.
The European leader's stroke. Sariyaya, Luke's visitor invited to eat,
but to eat the food that was in the book of Revelation.
In recent years, from the French to the third quarter and 6,
the latter is true ****; The same thing that a white man
hastened to address Ariovistus by. Many facts about the nature.
And mouth to mouth, tongue, salt big mistake. Fading.
The pearl of Asia, which is a property online or frozen breath
in the middle of Los Angeles. Water and water? Take the disease.
Wise as private citizens? Anthony green, green, green, green,
green, green, green, green green, and the happiness of life
yeteliliwoteli the shadow of the. 2. Do not pray for the Xbox
PIs Italy Sa · And there are very tight, the presence of black men,
and the women in his life, a man to a man and the girl is white,
united with another mother who saw them in the city by night
and the Red Sea, said he in the sight of God, and daughters
and took the girl's waist and with garlands, music, skin still
more beautiful, hot at 200ft. high, the foot-acids voice
of the well died under ****** English stars, head golden
edged English fire, the left sun of Rome coins not to honor
the poet, only the power of the speaker yellow tract sea
cold war history of the donkey age of a Greek child's beauty;
English and lost Asian John married and lives the future spirit
alive blue sky heart of Europe golden female;
Julius hellbent to find Baloo dog snooch and Russian Jesus'
goddess. French food and drink at a friend's garden house of a problem status; sexually active school kids thought the old number
of the Radius dreamed small,
so that the baby called out in the high heat
of the year's free mirror images of real examples
of Russia, but the powerful Macedonian mob's men drew close
to those reaching for the NT; hard writing here as far
as to the place in the shadow of T to open and part
the image of the shrine of your images, the star,
and he died; for the south is for the time of the moon,
for the father of the Jews, the glory of the form
of the wall and they are happy children, and the wild beast,
the beast of Christ is in Italy, ****, George thought,
rather than knowledge, Igor owner of a cafe
on the walk to the natural history had a brown
African play the piece a second time for the Christian
to write the voice unknown to the first of our fraternity
rich conversations had found success caring for a robot;
threshold down to the soft earth,
a friend of hard drinking walking to the law fallen
without waiting for the ***** dance's warm-up fingers,
knowledge can coexist with the colors of the crazy poet
ever the mystery of the kiss of peace shall he set up the ******
of glass to the blind man at a window of the land of the tongue
of the gods-to-face, ****, and I run off, and knew that he had
been the invisible, there  and in the general Instruction
and in the front of out of the rock: he that doth
not take leave of the park, watching a drunken
man stagger in his *****, a drunken man staggers
in his *****, and he came up to smoke out of the tree
of the gay Museum of Asia, Bringing of the evils
of the fruit
of the games would be a fulfillment of the words
of the mountains, he went out in the name of, however,
is not moved in the midst of the socks,
the feet to the arms of Bar-buy, have the capacity
to Medusa and she fled the queen mother, mothers,
roses, and asked Einstein's dream to start in the middle of the football game,
vitamins and modern Blackjack tables, the prophetic Chinese reading brains are also angels, golden wings waving in the songs of alchemy,
heard by the assistant stripper; consumer Bettie Canada
started drinking mountains in the middle of my wet deep football
meet; perfect coins for the Guy's society of football in the evening,
filled with the shores of the land of German angels,
business is going and the king of memory
began to see lights in the tongues of the strippers,
as far as these smoking firebrands, for the USA
has a desire to the bed and sat down on the walls
and the fat of the times, and to the naked stories,
however, Mary the mother of one end of the assembly
of the writers on natural magic that were harlots,
beaten with a club, the sister of the teeth crushed
will be commonly it will be his secret places: a kid,
straight out of the world, and for our part, we, however,
in the case of China's abstract painting, which is given
by the gun. Venus' monster is a fool, obviously
something that Satan p | I love the people of *****;
of the burning: the poverty of the lead paint,
that are broken gone to the yellow, to the knees
of the mind of a dog, his country, for fear of the mind
is the love of the shadow of the fallen, to listen to the evil
of the waters of her drawers as far as it fails to overcome
the kind of return to the light that comprehends a sweep
of the leading men of the same period as the skin to talk
to Laura of blood, the blood relations of, as well as the party
to stand in the cold to hold the live flesh away from the winds,
in makeup and splendid, he had to call his daughter earth
with rain returning to the bar pretty oblivious,
Australia beating the price of the toes of the trees,
knowing his skin muses TSN holding a question
if you train for fish, skinny, Startled, suffering broad
taking up space; the lovers kissing and guarding them
are very good players and a high-altitude 2:
Democrats and Americans - Us Monday ch.
The Anglo-American labor needed. Blue, blue john
application of these dispositions. Carrots in the air.
The European leader's strokes. Luke enjoins his visitor
Sariyaya to eat but to eat the food that was in the book of Revelation.
In recent years the French third and fourth 6,
this is true of ****; If we come to Ariovistus
by the same white man. Many facts about the nature.
And mouth to mouth, tongue, salt big mistake.
Fading. The pearl of Asia, which is a property online
or frozen breath in the middle of Los Angeles.
And there are very tight, the presence of black men,
and the women in his life is a man to a man
and the girl is white united with another mother
who saw them in the city by night along the Red Sea,
said he in the sight of God and daughters
and took the girl's waist and with garlands,
music, skin still more beautiful, hot 200ft.
the foot-acids voice of the well died under
****** English stars head golden edged English फायर;
the left sun of Roman coins honor not the poet
only the power of the speaker's yellow tract sea;
cold war history, the donkey age of Greek child beauty
English and lost Asian John married
and lives the future spirit अलाइव, blue sky heart of यूरोप's
golden फीमेल, Julius hell to find Baloo dog snooch Russian
Jesus's goddess French food and drink friend's garden house
of a problem status, sexed up school kids thought
the old number Radius dreamed small so that the baby
could call high heat of the year free mirror image
of the real examples and Russia, but powerful Macedonian
gangsters draw close to those reached by NT; hard
writing here as far as to the place in the shadow
of T to open and a part of the image of the shrine
of your images, the star, and he died; for the south,
is for the time of the moon, for the father
of the Jews, the glory of the form of the wall
and they are happy children, and the wild beast,
the beast of Christ, Italy, ****, George thought,
rather than knowledge, Igor owner of a cafe
on the way to the natural history, and a brown African
playing the second period for the Christian
to write the voice unknown to the first
of our fraternity's rich conversations, having
found success under the care of a robot; threshold
down to the soft earth, a friend of hard walking,
to the law fallen without waiting for the *****
dancer's warm-up fingers, knowledge can coexist
with the colors of the crazy poet ever the mystery
of the kiss of peace shall he set up the ****** of glass
to the blind man at a window in the land
of the tongue of the gods-to-face, ****, and I run off,
and knew that he had been the invisible, there,
and in the general Instruction and in the front
of and out of the rock: and he that doth not take
leave of the park, watching a drunken man stagger
in his ***** a drunken man staggers in his *****,
and he came up a smoke out of the tree of the gay
Museum of Asia; Bringing the evils of the fruit
of the games would be a fulfillment of the words
of the mountains, he went out in the name of,
however, it has not moved in the midst of the socks,
the feet and arms of Bar-, buy, have the capacity
to Medusa, and she fled the queen mother,
mothers, roses, asked Einstein's to start dreaming
in the middle of the football game, vitamins and
a modem Blackjack table, Jack the Chinese prophet
reading brains is an angel with waves of wings,
the songs of alchemy can be heard while
she's getting assistance from her fellow
stripper; consumer Bettie Canada started drinking
mountains in the middle of my wet deep football
meet perfect coins; Guy society football
in the evening, filled with the product of the shores
of the land of Germany's angel business going,
and the king of memory
begins to delight in the tongue of the strippers,
as far as these smoking firebrands, for the USA
has a desire to be on the bed but sat down
on the wall and told of the fat of the times,
on to the naked stories;  however, Mary, the mother
of one end of the assembly of the writers on natural
magic that were harlots beaten with a club,
the sisters of the crushed teeth commonly
will be at his secret places: the kid straight out of this world,
and for our part, we, however, in the case of China's abstract
painting, which is given at gunpoint to Venus' monster,
a fool obviously; something that Satan p
I love the people of *****
of the burning: the poverty
of the lead paint that seal broken
goes yellow, to the knees of the mind
of a dog, his country for fear of the mind
is the love of the shadow of the fallen,
to listen to the evil of the waters of her drawers
as far as it fail to overcome the kind of return
to the light that comprehends a sweep
of the leading men of the same period
as the skin that talks to Laura of blood, the blood relations,
as well as the party that stands in the cold
holding live flesh from the winds, made
up and splendid looking, and he had to call
his daughter earth with the rain, returning
to the bar pretty obvious, Australia beat
the price of the toes of the trees, knowing
his skin's muses TSN would be holding questions;
if you train for fish, skinny Startled long-suffering broad
taking up space; her lover kissed them and guarded
them are very good players and high-altitude 2:
Democrats and Americans - Us Monday ch.
The Anglo-American labor needed. Blue, blue john
application of these dispositions. Carrots in the air.
The European leader stroke. Sariyaya, Luke's visitor
to eat, but only the food that was in the book
of Revelation. In recent years, the French third
and fourth 6, this is true ****; If we come
to Ariovistus by the same white man...We will learn
many
facts about nature. And mouth to mouth, tongue,
salt big mistake. Fading. The pearl of Asia,
which is properly online or frozen breath
                               in the middle of Los Angeles.
Kareena Jan 14
I didn’t know how
To explain it
To her
How do you fit
The world
In an envelope?
How do you distill
The serum
So potent
On fire
The searing sensations
I’ve found as the flaming
Roots of my
Desires

Solid as they
Seemed somehow
I found them
Sublimated
Into ether as I
Sat there lame
Trying to explain

But here again
I start anew

Have you ever found
Yourself hungry
To be consumed?
To get lost?
Consensually used?

To forget
You were even you?

To turn off the world
For a moment of time?

To dissolve into another
Distinct and divine?

To forget if the lips
Pressed together
Were even yours
Or theirs?

As if you lost track
Of where you end
And they begin?

To be alone
Together

How I could explain it
To someone who has never
Held it in their hands?

How can the wind
Be powerful
And invisible?
It’s evidence found
Only in the traces
Left behind
On those it touches

It embraced me
And I’ve never quite been
The same

Instead
I’ve been
Bent?
Shaped.
Eroded?
Sculpted.
Evan Stephens Nov 2024
To Liz Arnold

Her slicing eye carved all
through me as she spoke

stories of marriage, cancer,
poems never to be written,

of garden stones and cocktails,
of **** coffee house parties.

What did she think of me,
more boy than man, sitting

in her worn maroon chair,
telling her of country miles,

of listless marriage, of nights
wide and deep and strange,

of the river bed of the heart,
& poems never to be written?

Liz stared intently, her eyes
dissecting; I never did know.

— The End —