Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
.english colonialism used to be passive-aggressive, english post-colonialism is a strange dynamic of former colonial nations playing the endgame of colonialism with non-affiliated nations of the british empire (affiliated by trade anyway, although not based upon origins of the ruling elite's extending arm), there's a hot topic in england between the irish and the polish, the irish are provoking the polish into racism so someone else can look smug with a pakistani friend on the london tube.

you know the amount of pain i see writing my father's
invoices of manual labour with the irish *****
apparently running
the show protecting northern
irish outputs of poetry and cigarette smuggling -
keeping us migrants "in check"?
god the loathing,
i try to improvise each invoice
with an excess knowledge
of the english tongue to break through,
but my sole considering comforter
is still death,
**** this *******, i rather die
than see my father's eyes eye me
hurtful hopeful of seeing my "bright new life"
when i was nearly murdered by
an egyptian school-friend / childhood friend
and later told: boy you better pretend you're
mad... boy my ***, your father is just
an x-ray technician... go back
to the northern africa of your
pretending to be a semite and build
another pyramid... *******, **** all of this,
days of casual pretentious squeaky clean
non-offensive poetry are over...
gentlemen - let's broaden our minds... swear a little
take up oaths with truth...
we were born to down a pint of concrete before
ireland was born, rushing out of pubs
when the call was made: concrete has arrived!
run, run run run! break legs and whatnot,
because in an irish pub talking to a homeless
person in akimbo giving him a cigarette
is cause for argument with an irish girl
trying to get, familiar;
unlike the sword, a stick has two ends...
you can smack someone with it,
but then someone can rebel and grasp the same
stick and smack you with it, for a suckling
taste of a kiss in memory of reprimanding manners.

- and i do remember the good stuff coming
out of h'america...
    i once owned a copy of blue valentine
by tom waits on c.d.: scratched that record
from over-playing it...
found a vinyl copy in the shop today...
splashed out a staggering £20 on it...
lucky for me the mp3 record comes free...
     £20 is a lot?
       well... better that £20 which played
in the background as i finished off decorating
the kitchen...
   rage 2 deluxe edition for ps4 -
      £44.99... so sure... i splashed out...
          thank god i'm not a gamer...
with games it's like with movies...
   notably? vikings season 1...
     i thought i could watch it a second time...
couldn't...
   a bit of a hit and miss...
    with games and movies...
      when the narrative gets exhausted...
and you're still honing in on the narrative
whether a passive spectstor or the role player
in the game...
but investing in an album?
       background background...
and an almost infinite array of the comeos
against the record...
   one cameo decorating a kitchen
another cameo finishing the day off with
some cider on a windowsill...
   but once upon: that's what h'america was
about... united we stand,
divided we fall... blah blah...
           and it looks like that right now...
the cultural export zenith peaked and it isn't
coming back...
   not for a while at least...
now we only look at not the united
         but the balkanized states of europe...
the states pulling at each other:
where once there was a cohesive collective
      export of pure cancan h'americana...
tom waits' blue valentine...
                          now i'll am getting
"culturally" is a bunch of vlogger content...
export of problems,
existential qualms without support on
existential pillars from continental thought
of 20th century europe...
   19th century doesn't count:
   not even nietzsche does: but kierkegaard
doesn't.

what are those lyrics from that vomito *****
song enemy of the state?
we shall send you, in ever increasing number:
ships, planes, tanks, guns: that is your purpose
and, our pledge
... (1941 state of the union speech
sample)

most americans are not aware that soon
the primary export of our national economy
won't be cars, or food, or microwaves.
instead we'll be exporting death.
instead will be exporting death.


   perhaps, once upon a time...
now the export is quiet different,
   at its cultural zenith of exported values...
it would seem h'america choked on
a bitter pill... h'america no longer provides
the sort of culture worth exporting,
notably in cinema in music...
                               in literature...

the behemoth lost all of its juggernaut
momentum... and stumbled into rehashing old
ideas... it's not plagiarizm as such:
more a plagiarizm ex per se...

norman davies: god's playground -
   1795 to the present:

the Belweder is a palace in Warsaw...
(belvedere: a beautiful view)
constructed in 1660 -
  the White House in Washington D.C.
constructed in circa 1796...
by god, what a similarity!

   polish emigration to the u.s.a.:
in social terms their educational and communal
organizations are less effective than those of
the ukranians,
   in political terms their problems
command less notice than those of the blacks,
chicans or amerindians...
in the vicious world of the american ethnic jungle,
the 'stupid and ignorant Pole' is a standard
stereotype... once the noble lord...
reasons no doubt exist: like the irish and
the sicilians... the greatest influx came from
Galicia containing a large number of
the 'wretched refuse': people so oppressed
by poverty and near-starvation:
supressed linguistically, religiously...
the instinct of mere survival...
accepted the most degrading forms of employment...
exploitation: 'industrial *******'...
they were the gangers of the great american
railway age...
a canadian textbook can be cited
(j. s. wordsworth, strangers within our gates,
toronto 1972):
'it is hard to think of the people of this
nationality other than in that vague class of
undesirable citizens' -
   very much like to today:
   to think of canadians being a people
beloning to the making of mankind -
    without the canadian concept of mankind
being: peoplekind...
even woodrow wilson (then) prof. at prince-ton
deemed the Poles to be 'inferior'.

- but who was to ever to keep grudges...
grand torino - the movie, starring and directed
by clint eastie-boy-sparking-wood...
waldermar kowalski... dumb pollack...
why do poles no integrate within a community
bias as such?
                   the proverb:
if you want to succeed within a framework
of immigration: steer away from your
fellow countrymen...

                     almost all other cultures that
come, but the host's nitty-picky:
oh look at our asian labradors...
why can't you lick our ***** like they can?
etc. one example out of the many...
some people, i guess: prefer to be in
the background...
post-colonial powers need tokens...
akin to a sadiq khan:
papa was an immigrant bus-driver -
quick step up from daddy being a bus driver
to the position of mayor of london...
browny points!

the english are smug like this:
you hear even today -
WE WON'T BE SORRY FOR OUR
FATHER'S AND FOREFATHER'S SINS...
not for our colonial past...
they say that consciously -
but subconsciously they are scoring
brownie points...
        i can't say they're doing this
unconsciously: since if they were:
there would be a unanimous concensus
and no: "diversity is our strength"
agenda...

             besides... you can't exactly
conquer an island...
the norman conquest of 1066? it wasn't really
a conquest: for a conquest to actually take
place you'd require the native population
to be displaced / replaced by the invading
force - akin to the saxon invasion...
'don't touch, their, women...
we don't breed with these people...
what sort of people would you think
that would breed? weak people... half people'
(king Cerdic from the film king arthur 2004)...
proof being?
when the normans invaded and "conquered"...
they simply replaced the ruling saxon elite...
hence? the domesday book...
the ruling elites were being replaced
and the new ruling elites wanted to have
an account of who they were going to rule...
it was less a conquest and more:
a change of guard... since...
            the locals were first investigated
and subsequently left to their own devices...
there was no conquest:
               as such...
                but you can get on with your
day-to-day life on an island with natural
fortifications (the ******* sea)...
and produce your little whizz-kids down
the years...
   but imagine being squeezed by:
prussia... russia, the ottomans,
                  the mongols...
                             the swedes...
                and subsequently by the austro-hungarians...
matka królów (the mother of kings),
i.e.: Elisabeth von Habsburg...

   in conclusion... oh to hell with the whole
"incel" label... you have to pay for something
in the end... why not skip the *******'s worth
of pleasantries: the dating masquerade
and not get into the nitty-gritty with a *******
in one smooth stroke of a count worth an hour?
no hard-on shyness that way...
no ****-teasing...
whatever is an erectile dysfunction outside
of the brothel... doesn't seem to bother
whittle wichy while in a brothel...
so go figure...
                and relating to the stories of incels...
hmm... maybe it's the fickle women...
last time i checked...
i picked up a thai bisexual in a park,
a random stranger...
                took her home,
some beer, some jazz...
                  ****** her in the garden...
        i don't even think it's the case of
"i can't get laid" with these incels...
     english women: nuns on the outside...
latex gimp suited **** black boot licking
*** fiends in the bedroom...
   the madonna-***** complex...
the only aspect of Freud that resonates with me...

you know what, never mind...
      i'm just happy i collect vinyls...
free mp3 copy to boot...
and instead of spending 40+ quid on a game
that will become exhausted after one sitting /
completion (these are not arcade games,
nor are they the "free" new wave of games,
the ones where you play "superior"
opponents with a handicap -
since you didn't pay any in-game updates,
patience is a virtue,
   and someone people invest real money
into these games, but are still **** at them,
plus, these new wave games never really end...
i'll be dead and i won't be able to finish them,
added bonus? there's no NPC dimension
to them, added strategy: with a complete loss
of narrative / story-telling, genius!)
plus... how much does a vinyl player cost?
you can get one for under 70 quid...
sometimes vinyl bargains: under a tenner...
this one though, for 20 quid...
1 vinyl worth 20 quid once every two months?
oh yeah... i really splashed out on this one!

woman is a grand idea though...
    there is so much of woman i would be able
to love, if only the practicality of woman
wouldn't be associated...
alas: reality bites...
                       regrets...
                                  aged 33 and i feel as if...
i have managed a good enough sample
where both sexes can coexist within the confines
of me entertaining them:
as if they were to never meet and "preserve"
the "fate" of "humanity"...
      i'm pretty sure there are plenty of people
who have been bullied into this trap
associated with the otherwise "intelligent"
dodo mentality...
                          besides, i'm about to find out,
whether or not, they sell liter bottles of whiskey...
using my braille tally:

            ⠁ ⠃ ⠇ ⠧ ⠷ (⠿)
            1  2  3   4  5  (6)
             a  b  l   v  à  (é)

                        from what i drank yesterday
for that lullaby... i'm starting to supect that:
what they label as a liter... is actually more -

    if after ⠷⠻ ⠷⠻ (i.e. 50ml  20x) i'm not left
with an empty bottle... well then i'm not left
with an empty bottle.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
i keep, and keep, and keep trying
to put on the most sane face... **** me...
   listening to abba's super trouper?
this ***** isn't strong enough...
are these people really
the capitalists they deem themselves
to be?
   they're not reading into
the nah hammadi jesus crap,
are they?
   they must be! so much money in
that flesh, beginning with judas!
            now it feels like another whiskey
short, a mixer withou ice-cubes' worth
of a mixer...
             who the silly billy?
    last time i checked i wasn't named
the billio the reminder.
cares for the bored 'uns...
                     so too, minutes
later: with the scandinavian spandex...
          strut strut or so do the magic dance
invoking the fly-by of a yellow
submarine?!
           talk to me! come one!
   tell me whether there's an eye
                                in an oyster shell!
              glasgow? you live 3 years
in edinburgh,
is a bit like living in london,
imagining birmingham:
no river - no flow -
             islamabad up yer ****...
what?! got that wrong?
you sure? isn't ozzy placed in
a californian mansion?!
            maybe i got that one wrong too...
am i perfect? no...
   would i like to be?
can i be perfect and not write insolent verse?!
no? in that case.... no!
an outer-londoner about birmingham":
hardly a venice, let alone an amsterdam,
or a st. petersburg:
                       no river? no flow!
they dared to call edinburgh the athens
of the north...
  well... birmingham is the islamabad of
the the north... what?!
never ate a red cabbage cumin infused
coleslaw? ******* racist...
   get with the grit & grime of sharing
alt. social normatives...
             you ******* preached it,
mr. bankrupt post-colonial-stress-disorder
(p.c.s.d.) - & ms. blackpool
                                 wanking handy!
what?! not so handy any more? not so
pleased with interruptions from non-colonial
countries?
      oh shay shay, tiresome missy,
aren't you the proper wanked over
  pauper... ms. east-london,
ms.: the grit-&-grind-of-whitechapel...
& that eager chopping worded phrase for
'ackney... poor you!
  oh look... wait! wait!
let me get a cabbage leaf out to imitate
a tissue to cry into!
the english? in the roofing industry?
they're personnas non grata -
   no please, don't sent the english into the trade...
and my father? who did he learn
the trade of roofing from? picts! who?!
                       the scots!
the english are best attributed to their papa
darwin and their fetish for **** ***,
divorce, and having 2nd or 3rd wives,
and a pearly career...
                   as the sing-along of
polish children goes:
             angol pedał...
                                     angol pedał...
no, that's not verbatim...
  the original was better...
   even though the fact that my
little village team made it to the national
leage 1 in 1997 / 1998 -
and i manged to chant
          Ł.K.S.! JEBAŁ PIES!
funny... i was a football hooligan for
one afternoon...
           that feeling of beloning
has schtuck to me, like a leech...
consuming more than blood,
         i.e. memory fusion with thought.
Lize Jan 2021
Dear reader

There is so much in this world that we don't understand.
Like why would someone you love hurt you the most
Or why are you stuck on the highway when you could choose an open road?

My life is a mess.
The person I thought would never leave, left!
A promise I made when I was 17, now broke!
An the feeling of beloning, now gone!

But even in this unexpected situation, I still have hope
I still have believes and morals.
I still have standards.
I still have self-worth.

Because even when life is a bit messy and nothing around you make any sense. You still have a purpose. You still have your dad as your biggest supporter, and you still have your mom that makes loving someone else look so easy.

You are worth it.
You are loved and special.
You are unique.
And you are a blessing, If not to someone else then to me.

So go!
live your life without fear.
Make every moment count.
And even if you get lost sometimes (which is okay) just stand up and collect your own broken pieces.

Do not wait for that handsome prince on a broken moterbike.
Get you own and be your own hero.
Stay true to who you are.
And always remember why you started this in the first place


Lots of love.
Me
Self-worth is a necessity to finding your true self
Daan Jun 2022
Na ethisch overweg,
overleggen met mijn ik,
zie ik enkel het besluit te moeten
retourneren.

Stappen terug na te snel vooruit.
Eventjes 40 waar je 50 mag.
Voorzichtig.

Er komt zoveel bij kijken,
beloning, straf en langzaamaan bezwijken aan hogere macht,
wanneer je stilaan gaat geloven
dat je nog slimmer bent
dan je zelfs al dacht.
En dat kan natuurlijk niet.

Wees bewust van je gebreken.
En lees je boeken na.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
n'ah ah, you ain't getting away with it this time,
there's no room for a squeaky clean
move, little miss sunshine;
you're not passing unto the dead
with those words coming from your mouth,
i count them as the psyche from the ****.

why do people confuse the *dead sea scrolls

with the nag hammadi library?
while at the same time ignoring
  the entries of the historian
flavius josephus
                      (joseph ben matityahu)
,
well: the sure as **** shared
same physiognomy - the jews
    and the romans...

the second coming? it happened!
it happened in the year 1945 a.d., with
the unearthing of the nag hammadi library!

the current transgender zeitgeist?
it stems from st. thomas' gospel!
          no ******* clue as to why it has
become un-reproachable,
but it has...
                        but why is there this mundane
confusion,
   of stating that the dead sea scrolls
refer to jesus?
                  clearly you don't understand
the bigger controversy, namely
of the courtesan prophet isaiah -
the dead sea scrolls are of those beloning
to his adherent heart...

theology? sure, and existential boredom.
           what's the grand controversy?
well... let's just say that when you
are executed by crucifixion,
  you're not exactly taken to the limits,
given that isaiah was cut in half
            yep, right at the abdomen -
imagine that!
                       why are this servitude in
pity toward the crucified one?

      but what a mighty conclusion to
2000 years of huh?!
                       why were the books of isaiah
hidden and why were the entries of
a jesus also hidden, and by "luck" -
re-emerge at the same time, to shape
the 21st century?

            the dead sea scrolls are mentioned
more times than what has become
the christian denial of the exitence of
the nag hammadi library...
   after all these years, and the ******* still
love the idea of pyramids!
     sorry, i'm not so keen on crafting such
elaborate sentiments (monuments) for death...
i'm not buying it...

            the 2nd coming has already happened,
but then again most people are too devoured
by the zeitgeist of androgynousness -
  and i source that origin in keeping
things "holy", esp. texts, namely
                                 the nag hammadi,
which refers to jesus,
which doesn't refer to isaiah and
the dead sea scrolls...

             as ever, the religious know so little
in what they gesticulate...
    who was the first person to
write the first verse of the koran?
     (a spanish H on the j)
                      k(h)adija(h) the literate -
imagine that! a woman wrote the first
verses of the koran!
  ****** was a ******* all the way through,
he had to allow a woman to write
his schizophrenic revelation -
                  then he became mouthy with
a 9 year old...
                       ****-load-peek-ah-boo!  
****;
last time i heard he didn't know how to read
or write...
       this arabic version of charlemagne
this shylock, this merchant of mecca
(why didn't shakespeare write that play?!)
if that camel jockey started writing,
we'd only see:

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

        yes yes, plenty of kisses, thank you,
no thank you...

                     the 2nd coming,
already happened! and look at what it brought!
   ***-change-demagogues!
1pm
not exactly but approx
circa
i.e. 12:45pm
and i'm kneeling again

to some distant prayer...

surely, if i were an aftternoon
******
if i were truly
a William Burroughs
admirer and
that would be me keeping
art alive
in Tangier
in some Arabian nightmare
some ****
fair enough
but also the thought
of an afternoon
listening to the children playing
in the playground
and life
life goes on

punitive measures
if i were an afternoon
******
oh
right
the reality
need the needle thread of music

just purged
had a chemistry experiment
in body
just purged
purged god i purged
i vomited the poison
out

a sobering purge
a sobering purge like
the purges from
food ******
of echo Rome

but i didn't eat i only
eat one meal a day
that i need to earn
and regardless whether
it's Christmas Lent
or Ramadan

it's the Bruce Springsteen year
in and out
and god i purged
didn't have enough time
to get to the toilet
instead spewed bile
onto the bedroom floor
then mopped it up
then spewed more bile into
the sink

then felt the body
like yesterday i felt
a sharp pain in my tooth
and thus felt the gravity
of bone
of flesh
of corruptibility
of morality
now i'm more sober and emotional
than discontent and
disillusioned half-enmotional
and high or drunk

i still need to buy onions
for the tomato sauce

those meatballs will need mixing
with breadcrumbs
and cumin
and coriander
and that sauce will need to be perfect

yeah
if i'm not tripping i should be tripping
but where did that old man with his
dog disappear to
the one that kept talking to the dog
like the dog could be a chair
because the man just
kept dictating SIT
SIT
I TOLD YOU TWICE
SIT
SIT
           woof! bark bark! woof bark!

then so clued up about being in a queue
that i forgot the thousands
of verbal cues in my head
instead i just heard: BLAH BLAH BLAH

the election cycle is on
in Britain and in America
and the world emerges with another
Russophobia
as if it were an Islamophobia
and who was that Russian
spy-op hacker
youtube influence-R

      the subjectivity of THE experience
with the objectivity of A experience
objective (indefinite) experience
subjective (definite) experience...

      these are my letter to Socrates
asking:
is this how the "problem" of universals
and particulars can be fashioned
to a suitable rubric of explanations
pedagogic?

                the logic of unraveling in and with
children...

       upon hearing my tongue
i heard that some Russian paid people
to storm the pitch
and pay them 30 million rubles
and within 20 seconds
a German or a Spaniard claimed
the pitch...

                   maybe some greater beloning
a me to i to you
and out through          to self and other...

      but i purged to sober
i purged to sober
because this day has been too good
although i'd never think to say

that i walked into a bank
like Neville Chamberlain
with a flimsy piece of paper
like from Munich
agreed upon toilets
and chimneys
i mean this Power of Attorney
that was just stamped
by a half-baked translator (in memorandum)
photograph and then printed
instead i needed a 16 page document
with all her crying
and whimpering
her late much late attended to for concern
of affection from a brother
now brain in the fish tank
and just because the word
euthanasia is
only
a word that came from my mind
i think of the ***** turmoil
of uncovering secrets in man
even this
supposed best friend and *** partner
Marius
who owes my uncle 300,000 zloty
and perhaps some land
should he forgo the debt
well but now fishbowl St Martin
is having a trip that i could only hope to once
venture into on a giant mushroom!

painless and likewise voidless
a peering black barnacle
with eyes and tongue
this unavoidable shapeshifter
and sieve-R of jurisprudence
this unavoidable date and time
and hopelessness vigor
that irritates the stomach
glazes the eyes
and fills all these rooms with a blank
evidence of emptiness

in a distance a Dalai Lama
who i don't know is Buddha
a cosmopolitan glob trotter or what
is that with St Peter
some inheritance tax
since the rest of us petty mortals
are living lives on loan
do these figures in the world
represent enforced reincarnation
thus these people
are paying the inheritance tax, Pope,
Dalai Lama...
Emir of Baghdad...
Sufiz of Damascus

      i petty mortal living a life
on a loan
this body
this brain this everything loaned
not something i can credit
with bad decision
without the debtor's sinking into
a wheel of money a chair
of money a lamp of money
a paracetamol of money
a book of money
a cushion a bed a house a money
in logical inflation from £100,000
to £0.01
                          the blood
and vitality of inanimate, dead objects,
that they get moved
sold
contested
abbreviated and joyed at

     hands that move chairs
and make chairs
hand each other pocket doses of
value and devalue
nothing mystical except the slow
realization
by purge so rewarding
by purge so electrifying
so illuminating
that one hour residing
in bed while the day busies itself
with its busiest selves

perhaps alternatively
on a Faroe Island
      and aging to some Scandinavian myth
with solitude and letters
not this champagne milkshake
of human emotions
this snot these tears
this phlegm and all the love juices
this ear wax this sinew
these tendons and shaking hands...

Mellstroy -
so my father wasn't bullshitting me...

"Three pitch invaders stormed the Wembley turf at the Champions League final after being promised £300,000 by a controversial Russian streamer, it has emerged. The troublemakers wore t-shirts promoting 'Mellstroy', a scandalous vlogger who offered the prize reward to anyone who would invade the pitch in his name."

      https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-13484263/Champions-League-final-pitch-invaders-Russian-streamer-Mellstory.­html

archiving websites...
that's actually an art in a way
well it is a bureaucratic art-form

/blog.pagefreezer.com/how-do-you-archive-website

$7.2 million USD
by some count of the casino
and i think of myself
and my use of bet365
and in general everything that i do
and my life
and i do think about my life
and if i were brain frozen
half my grey matter evaporated
in my frontal cortex
and that's Martin
two massive holes in his mind
and i can literally throw
anything in there
like Joyce threw Finnegans Wake
into his schizophrenic daughter
is that price
we pay to venture into writing
beyond what's offered in
the Bible
i just wonder how can we dare
to want so much
as to not speak
and instead write

the grey and metallic tinge
of Warsaw on a cloudy day
while very sunny in London
and Glasgow...

perhaps if half my brain evaporated
i would write some astounding
poems that
perhaps i could foresee
no better life than that on the page
like right now
because beyond what's available
there is no mojito under a palm tree
on a beach with the woman
i just might love

this life is brutal and how begging
we are to disbelieve that to be true.

— The End —