Is the occultist aware she’s daring,
That she carries the shadiest orifice?
No.
She just defecates and scars remain.


Akin to the likes of an unmarketable comedian:
passion on one side, narcissism on the other.
‘Twas unforeseen.


Enemies working together,
Exchanging callous banknotes.


No one had foreseen this.


Eventually, she’ll *******
from depositing and withdrawing.
But no one knows.
No one can ever know.

My heart is the beatbox
My mind is the maestro
My soul is the song
My body is the instrument

you seem pretty ordinary to me, which is why i wrote this
poem, a poem not in a classical sense of musicology
given there techno and big beat and black man's Mozart in the
jazzy quarter... you just seem pretty  ordinary to me, as one
supermarket attendee said while
getting the thief-lock on a bottle of Jim Beans's whiskey:
sometimes you have to be cruel
to be kind... i watched him wrestle
that thieving plug like suffocating a
salmon... Bobby McFerrin inventing
beat-box, you know how the story goes...
entertaining the many, forgetting
the little shrouded figure in the
shadows, ready to pull all the strings
on a suicide vest... and then.. BOOM...
Sinjid's your uncle, as my mathematics
teacher said... no one ever mentioned
the rise of the Turbanator, but it might have
been added for the sheer blow-over tactic
as to why it was a keratin fetish in the Arab
department...  Hollywood in the 1990s looked
so cool, i mean that in all the best phrases...
after the 1990s it just went tsunami-style into
a nose-dive of ricochet of ****...
then again.. why not avenue q? or cluster k?
ah, the aesthetic parley, the black dot tattoo
with some verse from the book of genesis,
better call them the biblical-phobias,
any citation needed in this joke? probably none.
the 1990s felt so lazy, so Utopian almost,
after the drugs of hallucinogenic properties
and the sedatives where translated into
alphabets, we all wished to experience them...
but once the experiences were encoded,
the Beat generation poets started when high
we sorta said: **** it... nay bother...
they wrote about a compass as s a fidgety Byzantium
cranium with a Bahamas postcard...
down the Turkish shop i'm allocated the word: bro...
he did have his goods suffocating the public
eye of a bench... turned into a lawyer for a bit,
told him about the bench, told him to expose it...
now i'm a bro; this sort of **** will have
Isis soldiers lament the passing of Robin Williams...
like i said, in the 1990s we almost made it...
after that we hit a down-turn of success...
i don't know what happened, bowling for Columbine
certainly did, populism is so far removed right
now that i'm starting to think of the population
of Fiji... and how people would gather around an idol
of pop music being sold to us...
people naturally wait for the cut-off points...
friendships, grandparents, pop artists...
we leave them as the additional grains of sand or droplets
of water in the conundrum arithmetic of passing by...
but when i watch that video of don't worry, be happy,
i think of Fitzgerald's the great Gatsby's everyday life,
without the glitz parties to attract the sycophants...
that's my first translation... every other
translation doesn't really care to bother me...
that video is for me the way Gatsby ought to have lived...
King Lear in Pyjamas running the chequers charade
of impromptu: deaf con black, arctic privy white...
and three knocks of a chisel on the dental of mummies
to check the carbon dating as "no hoax";
i don't know why Bobby McFerrin's song (plus video)
makes me think of Fitzgerald's the great Gatsby,
but it does... it's Robin Williams in the pyjamas...
i figure... the ultimate trick is to play the
rich lunatic, wearing pyjamas on the beach...
ending the tryst with the words:
"sunset already?" sure, full-glare-of-the-sun
simmering of oven baked chicken tights
with added smoked paprika and a secret marinade
recipe. that ought to do it.

Exotic & dangerous

Life is shorter than what we know or think
so i must enjoy my life freely
do the extreme things before i die

Had to do  things that i want
and dreams that i want to fulfill
even from my last breathe

Because i want to
Because im curious of every single thing
Even from the way you breathe or ****
Then i want to spread this
and lend me a hand

Then come with me!
And make this world worth living!
then we can jump to tallest building like hell

This things that i wanted really so bad

To fly somewhere
were everyone can't recognize me

To play in the rain
and be a kid once again

To travel around the world
were i can find myself
and perhaps discover something knew
that i haven't been before

Go picnic and eat some snacks with friends
were i could laugh on top of  my lungs

Go partyin' late at night
were i can control and make some noise
like a dj bass

Go to a concert
to a great rock band

Go shopping to the mall
and be a fashion clique

Produce a music
were birds could come and go with you

Represent to your country
and be a world champion human beatbox

Write stories
and be an author
of my own journey


Cause YOLO
you only live once
in your life
and there

g

    o

            e
                         s*       

             
                 A        D       V           E       N        T        
                                                
                                                                   U      
                                                         R       
                                               E

Submitted: Apr 6, 2010    Reads: 22    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   


Intro, Intrude, trackers on our homephones. Smack dat back
We got the shacks we gotta cadilacs. We have the beat boys. Just to show off to our audience. Life so great we got to slow it down by running the white house like where tearing up an igloo. Hang out in the cribs we 100 percent juice. Only talent better get it. Like Shaq oneil as V.I.P. We got a thing and we can't stop M.I.B with a top collar buttoned. Skin so thick you think we're eskimos.  Just couple  American, Tryin to make a livin. With old time guitar strolls with a beat that can rip ya socks off. Were rappers and were rockin it. Bring it to the times when lifes all good nobody hurt us yeah everyone will honor we in the hood

Chorus:
Government rock, Government, jump up to the clouds. Spread the waves with your arms. Spread your love wit ya hearts
--------
Beatbox with politics. Were pumping out america with this Punk block. Echoing of the top of the oval office. Let see it Hillary dance till the votes come tumbling in. Bling bling rap so hard where dancing on pots of gold get tangled in the silly putty. You know whatta I mean ice so keen while the girls stay thin. Spreading there white glow from their mouths and I love when they show it to everyone around them. Someday wheaties box gotta sell our records with the cereal the kids love to eat for breakfast. They'll Call us the 3 with the platinum series. But between you and me we all the same. Just different trades Our grillz shining to the stars on stage.
This is the sound, this is the show. Gotta turn it up like the volume on our sterio. Cheerion Cheerion, Bring it on.
With our political right. We vibe white house all night.
Mouth so dry slurring with the  sting of our words.
Around we come again. There we roll again. Bringing the band in the

Chorus
Government rock, jump up to the clouds. Spread the waves with your arms. Spreed the love with ya hearts. Wax on wax off. With karate man.
------
We gotta a brand named band, don't know about us.
We no loser. Just a little closer. Making a way to train this place to fame. Want my card yo. Got to drive to elderado. In a mustang, baby. Thats right you heard me.

Can i hear an amen Yo its like nobody knows. What indwells in the sounds we place on our miches. And the times we get the power. To scramble the crowd singing louder. Everyone floating on there toes. Like tap dancers. Don't make type error whe nyou report to the news. Theres the president now break prancing switch om a pirate ship. Aint no soul left out alone

My hands are not my hands
My voice is not my own
My lip never was my lip
But this blood is all mine.
The spoon sedated my fears and insecurities
It's tender metallic surface gleaning
And involuntarily shaking
As I lapped up alllll the yogurt.
I could use a cartwheel.
I don't want to sleep
I'm afraid of dying
as my back and forehead sweat in agony
My eyes don't open anymore
A steady beeping
A flickering fills the air around me
I told my brother I'll be back soon
If I stop
I'm writing with my eyes closed now.
My heart rumbles like a cannon shot
My only regret is how I never knew you better
Mr. Cobain.
We had such fun nights with Mr. Yorke
and Mr. Coyne
Just laughing
And taking turns rolling Thom's glass eye across the floor.
Spring training.
I'm laughing on my bed outside
Catching glances of the summer
Coiled and contemptuous
They go on their lives not caring
Who lives.
Who dies.
Three girls climbed into my window
They smelled of grass and
polyurethane
The children died 6 years ago
The Johnny Carsons of this life
And
GET OFF MY HAND *******
PASS ME THE FOOTBALL
Percodin.
Codin.
Coding.
I just turned the page
And I'll be ****** if I do it again

“oh ****!”


If Dan went white-face ghetto
And wore beatnick clothes
It'd be
AMAZING
The incisor broke my fall
Sorry.
No pork and beans today.
Ericccccc
Help my head
Chalk these mint leaves up to fate.
Because ******* are they good.
I'm reading your expression
On an empty pizza box.
You don't seem too pleased.
I fear
This ice in my tray made me soak my bed
Honest!
Flounder had a mohawk
I don't give a **** what you say.
His **** mohawk was badass.
His stubble made Sebastian jealous
A bed of ice is better than a bed of coals
Or a bed of cars
Or a bed of rice
But that would feel really, really good.
Take a guitar solo
Now a bass solo
Now a keyboard solo
Now a harmonica solo
Now beatbox, no go?
Maybe the former
The TRANSFORMER of course. I hope I live to see that one day.
Yes.

.it was just fine and dandy with flaubert and knausgaard and kundera and the continental novel... another matter "concerning" dickens and the pickwick papers... "it's complicated"... well... outside of the novel... sure... the shovel... and a zukofsky... an ezra pound... perhaps not the sort of flare of a t.s. eliot... ever, the riddle of poetry is the riddle: from top to bottom... never from bottom up... what a mad idea to begin like some john "rimbaud" rambo in... missing teeth crossword punisher "puzzles"... the art of seagulls and pigeons... airy fairy... double-dairy... ***** from on-high... with a hiccup and a... 'igh... settled affairs... why else bother... come! our last drink! and let us praise sunrise! with good intentions for hierarchy, guilt and conscientiousness! let's pretend to wake up and find ourselves being needed... like heart-surgeous... bus-drivers... beside these hellish confines of sickly-sweet vanity projects! let's wake up as necessary as veins! and water! bus-drivers! let's wake up as gravity! so necessary! not this... grand mangum bogus opus of: zee art... this... waste of time; let's!

come the beatbox with words...
i.e. these days all i hear
is glutton ping-pong...
   i want to transverse something
of a river of a sentence:
                                                  w    ­     (↓)       (↷)
  (↺)  (↓)                  n           i                    (←)
     (→)    d                  i               n             (↓)
                                                             ­        g      ("exit")      

yes: a complete minefield:
no mines... but all the over-complications
of a "busy" mind...

   Poland and... traffic signs...
almost all of Europe and...
traffic signs...
                        Germany for the views...          

left to right...
       beatbox with meanings
like... boPS... and threaTS
                 with prefix jargo'             'n
pre-
                    pops and pulling
twigs on rhodes...
      of prose: the castle of novel
and paragraph...
interludes in dialogue...
              and the river
the sentence and nothing at all
concerning shrapnel...

   i can have on offer...
the niqqud with a "revision"...
            they (vowels) might as well be
in braille if they're to be "studied"...

          hmm... נקקד

i.e. -un / ⠊ / -ud / -ud / ⠥ / -alet

    n- / чirek / q- / q- / шurek / d-

  the grand Ч vs. Х
                    chOhc       loaded...
     a loch lommond; cheap beer...
words to write when listening
to music - any music...

                     it's not a complication
to make fool or master...
a Llama...
                    esp. not...
                              a tier 6 complication
category... those 7 years in
Tibet...
         like no new and...
                                        the lost old.

Play me like your instrument
Reach inside
And find the notes,
Unplug the headphones
And watch me float
On natures music
If you should choose it.

Reach inside and unzip
My second skin,
Stroke the snare as
I watch,
Strip me, lay me bare,
Prepare.

Reach inside, and pull
Back the sheets,
The clink of springs
A xylophone,
Trickling out a tune,
Soon.

Reach inside, and pump
The pillows, watch the
Noise filled pause billow
Out rest stops of tension
And apprehension.

Setting for the show

Change emotion with the motion,

Now

Reach inside and grip
My heart
It's urgent bass beat cues
The start, the warm up
Of this performance.

Now.

Reach inside and slip
Through my blood,
Your music shivers
Up my veins,
An invisible trail,
I beg you,
Take what remains

Now

Reach inside and ******
My lungs away,
The heavy gasp of breath
Beats beatbox any day.
Take them, they're yours.

Reach inside and whisper
in my ear,
Unleash a hum of empathy,
Steer me, clear me
from the coast with the
Ships of my hips.
Take them, they're yours.

Reach inside and pluck
on my strings
Take your pick and
Weave your way
Within.
Take them, they're yours.

Reach inside and finger
at my chords
The ****** of the piece
Applause enough to live on,
Each gasp lingers, strong.
Take them, they're yours.

Each gasp lingers through.
Clear

Reach inside and find
the notes,
My lyrics soaked in
Joyous expletives
Raw and sensitive,
Take them, they're yours.

Take me, I am yours.

sometimes i just have a few words masquerading as cobweb
and spider in my mind,
      sure, they're custard, clogging it up,
but then i wonder why Einstein was
such a big deal with the two worldly
distractions, and was necessarily dubbed:
still wrong.
             then as solomon predicted,
all is vanity, including the necessary 15 minutes
of it, could F. Sinatra ever cling to
such a forthcoming?
                   yes, all is vanity,
and only a few of us experience sanity
(that rhymes on purpose) -
so away from what's overly-prefixated
with words like un-, anti-, contra-, neo-, sub-...
     anglophone intellectualism is basically
a fixation on using prefixes as one might
use adjective, in that the former case
doesn't formulise the arguments,
in fact, trying to revitalise dialectics
seems a bit like finally saying: so democratically
speaking, we had no disagreement to keep
zoologically best kept hidden,
       because we said democracy and how
tribalism left a small minority roaming
the Amazonian rainforest (as if we were visiting
a Vishnu temple on Mars ping-ponging a huh?),
            people hate the queen ant as much as
they hate the rebellious worker ant...
       since the latter extends into a despotism
  the former outrightly allows,
        as long as the herd: alter. name for republic
and democracy survives and is left unchanged...
no cognitive virology can affect us...
        this is where the Cartesian model (originally
thought of as a dualism) becomes monistic,
or monastic... hmm hum hmm: mongolian harmonica...
        can there be case for cognitive virology?
if there is, where's the placebo? the standard base
in saying 0, 0, 0 is the basis for all big-bang coordinates?
that's like asking Copernicus where's east!
        the beauty within the eye-of-the-beholder has
to accept 1 fact, but still favour fact 2 to coordinate
successfully... it needs a spherical earth to not look
barbarian... or simply dim... but it also needs
a flat earth for an atlas and a "pseudo" truth to transverse
from A. to B., because, as it turns out:
satellite navigation personalised can lead a group
of Japanese tourists steering their rental car into the sea...
  like me... i have a few words floating about in my mind,
and they won't go away until i write them...
   pomocnik / labourer / helper
         nocnik / chamberpot
             noc / nacht... night...
    inżynier / engineer...
               the ridiculed version?
           pomagier, cow-eyed slacker
    who pretends to labour under or not under
                           a scrutinous eye of big baron Bartholomew...
      polymathic expeditions are one thing,
but to really explore globalisation you need
bilingual entrenchment... it gets psychological,
there any sort of economic sensibility in applying
two languages to a single cause...
    and being polymathic is a just excuse to
be, actually quite useful...
         quit quiet and quite... that's the q. q. q.
session without an answerable rubric...
                that's one proof of what happens when
diacritical marks aren't used...
             we're all bound to collide with the re
to our ego... it's only that poets and writers have
the topic enshrined in them as: now you should
feel ashamed... trying to not conceive a south
to a sunset, trying to not conceive a west to a simile,
not taking precautions that allow deja vus...
                  well? what the **** can a plumber say?
sure, it might be a marble rather than a ceramic toilet,
but it's clogged-up just the same...
                   and when writers realise they're not
St. Augustine of this world, they'll knuckle down
and write a Stephen King oeuvre...
         and by that time writing will become everything that
butchering a cow takes...
the title though, it means something...
           rumbles, in a well...
  (you always need to insert the a / the
     articles... a chair has to be asexual in English,
but you do need to orientate yourself by either pointing
at it - definitely - or "abstracting" it - namely
becoming a pioneer in suggesting it,
because Farsi akimbo by a Japanese table was never
quite right, as with due the revision of chopsticks)...
      dudnienie... see: once again the stutter...
          akin to lekki... just short of k-he... or khi...
or ghee...
                      even i thought the alkaline metals were
the pinnacle of hypersensitivity when dipped in water...
try language dipped in haemoglobin...
                    dudnienie? a noumenon expression,
as in: in itself... a far far away grumbling in a far far away
removed space for out pithy concerns...
            studnia? never mind studies and studs...
or Scandinavia...
                       the cork of the sewer system...
the tip of the iceberg...                
     and i appreciate the fact that all wars waged these days
are based on a retaliation against the mono-linguistic
parley of globalisation...
  the Arabs were naturally going to rebel against the endorsement
  of proto-Latin given the "popularity" of English...
some call it the remnants of the Empire...
           stresses on the q... as is due for desert folk:
m'qaba... it's almost glutton-bound nasal...
    it will take more than McDonalds to make them give up
their tongue... as hard as skimming across Lake Geneva
the Ayers Rock...
                           that's the one thing you can't take
from people: with what language they speak, no matter
how gravy that Father Crimbo is...
       gravy (groovy)...    you just won't extract bleach
from these people... basically: my great great great great great
great grandfather rode a camel from Mecca to Medina...
therefore my great great great great great great grandson
will also ride a camel from Medina to Mecca
    and say the words and mean them in saying them:
al' habbu Deqa; a bit like saying plandeka
   when saying tarpaulin - and is that tar-pau-leen
or tar-pau-lyn?                       hence the ambiguity,
given that people made of iota (ι) a necessarily invoked
diacritical certainty, without having judged:
or could it be umlaut... or acute?
              well... if i managed to complicate language,
i'm as fastidious in asserting that i have
                   as Shiva might be to answering Vishnu...
    someone was bound to write something like this...
having grasp of the language without questioning it
would eventually summarise itself in a perpetuated
yawn...             but wasn't it obvious?
   for the same alphabet to be formidable across an
"empire" that never slept, and for the same alphabet
to be written "naked" without auto-insinuating accents?
       anyone could pick the **** thing up,
and talk Bindi-Hindi bud-bud in Bollywood,
                      as they might talk the Texan drawl
                                    and cowboyish ye-ha! in Hollywood.
how many Hindus does it take to unscrew a lightbulb?
    dance *******! just, dánce! (yep, posh-boyo club,
      daaa'     beatbox um'pss um'pss wet-snare rockafellar
   fat boy never slims             'ys - mind you yoyo back
that variation of Lyn and Mince).
                                             **** me! Zukofsky.

Here's a list of things I've given up on:
1. Hitting that high note in one of Mariah Carey's songs
2. Sleeping before midnight
3. Dieting
4. Add exercising to that

We met in highschool. Setting humility aside, I'd like to think that I was the smart one trying to head everything and anything that needed a leader. She was the new girl in our class who I sat next to and who would always give me chocolates. The first time we met, I told her we were gonna be bestfriends.

5. Painting
6. Learning how to beatbox
7. Not buying anything- and when I say anything, I mean anything- during a sale

I'm straight. Let's get that...straight. This isn't a story of how I fell inlove with my bestfriend. Well, I did, sort of. Because you can never really call someone your bestfriend and not love who they are. We were sisters who always made sure to fly together on our way back home and back here. We always brought each other along because we were a part of each other's story. She gave me flowers when I broke my heart. She told me I was beautiful but only in the right times because she knew that I never really learned how to accept a compliment. She held my hand although I relented thinking that no one likes to hold sweaty palms.

8. Staying within the luggage limit
9. Believing I'm always right
10. Pride

I can continue telling you the beautiful story of what once was and you'd probably prefer hearing that because no one really likes talking about endings, the places you land after the falling. Because it's horrible. It's terribly, terrifyingly horrible because you never thought you'd hit the ground. Because when you're falling, you feel infinite and alive that you forget to remind yourself that no one really lives up in the air.

11. Becoming a Dove girl
12. Acting like a "girl"
13. Crying

She told me she didn't want to fix it. That it was tiring and we should just leave it alone. You've probably heard this before from the lips of a lover but imagine it spilling out of the soul of your sister- the one who gathered all the pieces when he left but now, picks it up only to throw the shards at your face.

14. Calling
15. Telling myself that I'm okay
16. Being okay with just being okay

I'm okay. There are some nights that I remember her- how she hated eating vegetables, how she loved the color teal, all our plans of going to Paris just to eat lunch, all the promises we made and said we would never break. But do you notice that even in pinky promises you'd eventually have to let go? People let go because it's easier. It's easier than trying to find all the shards with your vision blurred because of the tears welling up in your eyes. People let go because people forget. They forget the first times. They forget that some masterpieces are made from mud after seeing those made from glass. They forget who you are to them and start considering who you can possibly not be.

17. Blaming myself
18. Asking
19.
20.
21.

She decided that I was a rock too heavy to carry still. But it's funny because as I looked around, everyone was carrying one. I guess, we just have to wait for those people who won't mind how much we weigh because we fit perfectly inside their palms.

Darling, enjoy the falling, but be ready for the landing and the crashing. Keep your feet straight and your heart guarded. Chances are it will shatter but try anyway. Because sometimes, there are people who meet you on the ground. They don't always catch you in time but sometimes, they do. And you will  breathe easier and you will finally discover that your lungs were not made for the thin air up there because it was designed to hold so much more. And one day you'll thank them, not just to convince yourself that you've moved on but because you truly, genuinely, mean it. Maybe one day, you'll even get to write a poem about them. It'll come. Trust me.

i just came here for the whiskey and music,
the rest is zoology formerly known as darwinism, i.e.
logically me monkey you you monkey me
was going to be a rainforest and not a cage,
but the purring in o# gravitated us to
the stratosphere of talkative dinosaurs:
you know... no rain for millennia... then volcanic eruptions
and to the bone tattoos... i almost clapped with the t-rex
concerning our fate without theology; but god it was funny,
runny ***** too, i told the reptilian rejects (crocodiles and snakes and
leather boots) - ‘mind ‘em monkeys, they’ll start to juggle
a single sound into many and discover the steam engine and scalpel!
and depilate for the obsessiveness of ******* *** with politicians
singing - pinky pinky fold into knuckle, floyd my barber whisked up nirvana!’
yep... you just caught me with two watermelons and four flamingos
lodged in my armpits while i pursed my lips waiting for applied lipstick.
it's not that i think evolutionary biology is incorrect...
but for god's sake, i need the word for fluidity and the friday night cinematic stretching of legs knowing that no one made a career from talking crap
imitating a choir of gorillas hoping for a beatbox in the chest of the hidden seal’s applause.

Sometimes
I beatbox just to clear my mind

Sometimes
I clear my memory to leave it all behind

Sometimes
I sing because I'm feeling good

Sometimes
I do what everyone should

I always
Help out my friends when they are in need

I always
Stay with my friends, the faithful steed

I always
Make memories that will last forever

I always
Cherish the good times we have had together

I love
My girlfriend,
My friends and family
Until the end,
Until the death of me.

a little argentinian malbec for
persuasion -

  because there's nothing for
the sort of blues of
reading through the poetry
bestseller books...

i'm not going to milk that
ol' goat of gloating
in saying:
        i'm better than that...
i'll just remind myself:

god, i possibly can't be
any worse...
   leftover ideals of love:
the sort of love
where a woman
is a mannequin
    and a man is...
           an imitation octopus...

that i've come to a crosswords
is probably an understatement...
stalemate in prose
to boot...

just so it happens
   i've done more walking
than writing:
having covered most of
the north-eastern aspect
of greater London...

from Romford to:
Epping,
             Coldharbour
Canary Wharf
St. Paul's cathedral...
Upminster, Brentwood...
and round and round
around Chigwell through
to Woodford...
   Epping Forest is overrated...
too many roads
cut through and too many
little rivers run through:
more like a swamp than
anything...

and with this, my "dilemma"...
circa 7 languages to
draw a picture...
  either a horizon or...
a take on Cezanne's still life...
better something Dali        esque...

眼 (ㄩㄠㄋ) -
      which is eye (yaun)
                       in pinyin / zhuyin:

since a glyph is not a letter
(apparently well d'ah d'ah d'uh!)

exhibit (a)

                                          երկինք
  שמש

                             เมฆ

                                     ㄕㄢ    (ㄕㄚㄋ)
ヤマ

    पानी (i.e. नदी)

                                       ც ე ც
                                       ხ ლი

         ⰎⰀⰔ
                         ᛋᚴᛟᚷ

           oddly enough coming back
to ol' ge'ez...
   i.e. ethiopian... i.e.
the word... for king...
                                       ነገ
                                           hmm
   "problem"...
            i know how an acute accent
on an S sounds like

                      ነገሠ    vs.
                          ­               ነገሰ

and i know the word... in "slang":
i.e. NYGUS...
                                             ነየገሰ

that vowels "might" be hidden
is obvious...
        disclaimer: although this is
a phonetic sketch...
  i'll write each word as it is:

sky, sun,
   clouds, mountain, mountain,
water (i.e. river)
                     fire
forest, forest,
                              king...
          
   մարդ        ստվեր
       ชาย         เงา
           ニンゲン    カゲ
आदमी       साया
   კაცი   ჩრდილი
         žmonių     šešėliai

that i was looking for (ų)
              is without a doubt...
what with the already planted (ą, ę)
i had the sound...
but i couldn't posit a meaning /
a word with it...
lucky me... lithuanian... had it...
all along...

       just like...
an imaginary petition
to revise some Cyrillic...
   i.e.
       if Ш = SH = Š
          and if Щ = SHCH = ŠČ
        then why . o O why...
does   Ц = the polish "c" or the german "z"...
i.e. why does      Ч = Č                ??????
                                         ­              ?????
                                                       ?????!

does ras(PUTIN) know? no?
looks pretty ******* solid to me, no?
i.e.
         Ш + Ц = Щ
                  
          it would seem plain enough:
n.b. the last time i read (past participle
red? lost the a, letter, not the indefinite
article)

of Dickens mention "orthography"
was nothing short of a spelling mistake...
i.e. the slightly above "average"
of phonetic-
                 (open form, hyphen attached,
no         -ing
          e.g. begin{n}ing)

juice worth of shrapnel...
whatever the eye might see
and denote as: cardamom...
             इलायची like so...
or კარდამონი like so...
      the nose a priori the eye...

a sure sign of Caucasian "superiority"
is bound to...
ahem... the "concept"
of having uppercase and lowercase
lettering...
unlike in "mother" Cyrillic...

at times Cyrillic looks cheap at
times... survivable...
to be of use... on the Siberian tundra...
which is hardly a Saharahaha...
sprout of a giggle and a variation
of a dwarf's name like Gimmley &
tow Grimm...

honestly: a bottle of Argentinian
red later and i'm... theta or phi i.e.
fffffff-erocious...
             raucous...
it's under suspicion that i cite...

Byzantium is not allocated
the Caucus route of all things...
crumbly...
post-colonial... imperial-y...
     like thing-y
        magic-y...
                       from... TWITCHY...
from fidgety...
the article of "nuance" /
association...
the associative article in english...
i.e. y
            
   if there is an indefinite article (a)
then that there is a definite article (the)
a possessive / plural article ('s / s)
so... the article of association / loose...
Herman?
            ein(e) zeppelin... bitte...
                                            werfen scheiße!

more example of a pan-Caucasian
takeover of... Caucasian ***** 'n' / &
*******?
            if god had such a grudge
against sacrifice of a jeez Louise
and zeus to boot...
then latin, this script...
would have gone the way
of the egyptian gylphs
and the babylonian cuneiform...
dodo... to paraphrase...

but no... oh no!

while "we" have the African boyos on
the beatbox of Beelzebub
i'll be the one ridiculed as...
tossing up a bother over a woord
sooload...
           because:
just because...

my petition is simple...
          Ц = Č... can't you feel it...
the old evil... the cold war...
the fact that you want to **** khaki nazis...
just because you're dressed in rags /
mongolian heaps of ****-smear
and a Bolshevik too
and they're the nicely primmed
Munich boys donning...
   Karl Diebitsch, Walter Heck
and of course 'ugo Boss...
            just because... it's that sort
of evil you want to ****
because... it's prophetic and it's
fire and it's crisp and it's
arrogant and stratosphere real...
it's the high heavens... all the 9s...
it's... an evil of potentially me...
it's: a betterment clause...
because i want to be...
         this ZZ-TOP...
                                                    sav­vy?

i.e. i'm not here to "talk" about
post-colonialism or the zenith of the
british empire...
history... etymology...
a language as something of
a labyrinth as those who acquire it...
weave it... ***-tickle-fancy it...
worthy of a revision...
but not... biased with...
cf. race-baiting...

   chris rea: so... so long long we
go to yet... gone...
   fish................... ing...
      
                    some bias in a b'          'op....
suppose there's a long pause
between the apostrophes...
mistake the apostrophes for hyphens...
b-                              -op
or better... a *** a sour-*****-klein-kinder...

in reverse reverse-psy-ops...
of the whittle Bangladeshi from
Manor Park, Forest Gate,
to Stratford through the Roding Valley...

***'s a yield of two a broker's supposed:
breaking of the son...
down or up the Gierkowa...
i.e. from Warsaw to Cracow
or from Cracow to Warsaw...
piggy-bag on the shoulders
of no lesser pseudo-Atlas
that, than was king Casimir...
some third...

           rummaging in the derelict
parts of heaven...
like an afternoon watching
my girl fridy...
apparently making a film in
1940s... and the whole world
deserves to "disappear"...
in a figment of 3rd party...

there isn't an associative article?
there isn't a dissociative article?
         bound to some          -ish...
that it's blue-ish...
that it might be tree-of-sort?
   this language this my playground...
who's no 'ere who is 'ere
anyhow?
  the last Portuguese take
on... chewing cheese?
      if "they" only knew what Alfonso /
missing the suffix -o actually implies
elsewhere... herr ****** etc.

- such that half of Poland died when
my grandfather died...
i mentioned the name: KRUPPS
and he knew...
to do with metallurgy...
and enterprise...
                          and by the time the other
half dies... i'll be...
freed toward the perspective of
flying... kite against swallows...
hoping to confuse
swallows with sparrows...

one word...

           scarecrow...
probably a misnomer given
the i.q. of crows...
crows probably... i just too pretend...
scarecrow in english...
let me check...

strach na wróble: literally...
reads as: fear for sparrows...
that's ******
pole ****** for you...
hmpf....
a rare sound of arrogant: quasi...
what do you want me to...
tailor / edit?

    doy'tch...
             vogelscheuche
noord: i.e. nordic...
             fugleskremsel...
a variation of skremme...
          schrecken: scare... to...
rather than: to... fear...
       absolutely nothing... to do...
with... allocated birds...
****'s sake... might as well be...
as easily done as...
frightpeacock!
              or aghastsduck!

this is language: my ******* playground...
no ethnically bound pseudo-darwins...
the empire... etc. are... all that welcome...
hier, i(s)ch bin "gott":
                                         ich bin wort!

hölle: bin ich... 'meow'?
                gurke-gänsehaut-ständer...
nein?

1:30am... that's enough...
          the wine has been drank...
the song... partially written... mostly unsung...
numbed...
******* Schwabian and sort...
because the Saxophone players moved
west and called a piece of Denmark
(Anglia)... that Roman variation
of Albion etc.
    and i'm here doing LEGO puzzle(s)
with Ali from dislodged Tehran?

crosswords... patriots of north h'america...
nationalists of europe...
funnel... fizz...
           the hardly... croat patriots mingling
with the iowa patriots of...
can you... allow... conjunctions
in acronyms?
united, yes.... stated...
                                   milkshake lingo...
of(f)                 ham... the burger buns...
      land of Ur...
that variation of Abraham
     *** Gilgamesh...
       veering into
Qi and Raq...
as...         how the Ottomans were
"necessary" in... Medina...

         bon ******* voyeurism of...
the taj mahal... via... c.c.t.v. etc.