if you can't be bothered to learn a second language? i, can't be bothered to relinquish my mother (tongue); that's just how it works; and no, mono-lingualism doesn't give birth to monotheism, given the example of moses, monotheism can only exist in a realm of bilingualism - just like the quantum effect of electrons; which is why islam is so, ******* arrogant, being the child among the father of judaism, and the mother of christianity... it wants to convert, but it doesn't bother to teach you arabic, which is a necessary precursor to practice the religion (apparently). yet i still think that, for monotheism to exist, it can only exist in a bilingual environment; you need to be fractioned, to encompass a whole, a oneness that's mono-, a god standing on one foot joking about having to dance, when instead imitating the jitters of a sparrow hopping, rather than gloomily, proud, and executioner fathomable parade of the crow.

   well, isn't islam a spoilt brat?
                                 isn't it?! is islam not a sploit brat?
                oh right... no dubai, no oil...
               hasn't islam become a sploit brat?
                           isn't it screaming and shouting
                and stomping its feet all around the place?
                to me? islam is a sploit brat...
           with papa judaism and mama christianity
   wondering how to deal with this insolent
          critter; the little ******* needs a good beating
      so he can shut the **** up; and what's with
   the orthodoxy of banning music?
             well... if you're going to ban music...
                           stop singing the ******* adhan!
    do what the catholics do... murmur it!

zamilkł*    (he became silenced)
        zamilkła (she became silenced)

     in english:        with england's                                

in polish:
                           z polską
                                    (with    poland)

­        and how the possessive article changes.

we all have our grievences,
to reclaim what we once had,

         the greeks have istambul...

  the germans have marienburg...
    
                         the poles have l'viv...

we all have our grievances...

  in the 19th century a few people stressed
a nostalgia for ancient greece...

   in the 21st century?
             the greeks are hardly nostalgic
about their ancient pillars...
   they're more into their byzantine heritage...
i guess the name is what's
       nostalgia per se,
           rather than the fact that...
   well... they're no remembered for much...
other than trying to keep islam at bay...
nostalgia in name only (i.e. byzantine) -
   belzebub belzebub... helen?
  hellenic?
                 belzebub byzantine belzebub...

well, perhaps there are a few cantos sung
by byzantine monks...
    and when you hear it?
              god, you can almost hear turkish
being spoken,
         and this is sung by greeks!
let's face it, turks have the same ι (iota)
    as the greeks;
                   the matter? settled in cyprus.

a pythagorean stance is? savour the few...
                     flu flu flew
away the many, and there are "not" enough
bothersome ones, to attest  to the aclue - i.e. without
a Sherlock.  it's sad to confess that i'm
not model ant but then again: my bicep
is not prone to signatures...
winged hussar that
scared off the turks off vienna...
modernity then!
     why am i an ω-male?
i like to hear the chatter of
                            α-β
holy of holies, and hangovers;
my feet are stench, my tongue
is stolen, bravo!
i can't compete in this environment,
there's no enriching curtsey (court-see;
see what not using diacritical
marks does to you? you flabbergast it!)...
but there i am... unsurprisingly so:
the omega-male listening in
on talk about beta males not getting any...
and alpha males turnings into walruses...
thank ******* time this happened!
quote: quo vadis...
        teutonis militaria...
                             ignis et gladio        
i'm an omega-male... i look at it and clap...
like the remnant of Belzebub within
a fly: rubbing it's tentacle bits,
assured, that all is worthy of cradling
     the definite article.
yes, i, the ω-male (omega)...
         it's no surprise that i'm basically not
gagging for it... there! yonder over y'all
(Kansas tribute)!
   patriarchal Kant, like an adjacent Abraham
with martyr Kleist:
              ω-male, counter to the beta male,
counter to the beta male that counters the alpha
male... basically? beta males gave me
no encouragement... alpha males gave me
no impromptu to attest...
               for all the beatifications of woman
i was assured the most forbidle attestment...
they... all... grow... old...
    and i rather transpire the wrath of tornadoes
than the boundaries of what makes woman...
for the sake of unprejudiced pronoun usage
(as if we were keepers of a promise to
name-shackle a tree to a tree, and then
never mention a twig, a branch, or a matchstick,
or a toothpick)
          woe unto man
and woo unto the other resemblance -
penance unto whoever wrongs the ****** signifier
that it should have been of a higher tier
to begin with...
      yes... to call the dynamism a case of
alphabet...                the case of prominent α
and shadowy β... i already stated my circumstance,
i'm not into passing on my genes!
      i'm an ω-male! the symbol already represents
what i stand for... sitting on my **** and
caring about the α-β dynamism as anyone could
care for a lesson in: if there's anything
important in this world, what, if anything
could it be?
                they really did forget about the ω-male,
and the jesus encyclopedic quote about
alpha and omega... ******* ruffians, stuck in
the beta mode of thinking things out...
learn the opposite... learn the hard way:
not to be so finicky courtesan... as the rule states:
if you can't support them: don't tease them
into fudge-packing your *******
                 for a breather on the weekend.

Verily, I must confess, a witch’s cauldron
Has been bestowed upon my belly,
Churning and roiling, Bubbling and boiling!

And, even though my days of yore on battlefields
Are far and few in-between,
I do remember bloated pig’s carcasses, stuck
Eternally asleep in strangling dead-man’s-land-muck.

With which I feel not seldomly inclined
To trade places
In my most severe moments
of deep-gut indisposition.

Dost though not hear my foul mouth speak no riddles?
Abort, it cries, abort!
Expelled be those pernicious liquids
That make haste to rend my stomach asunder.

And expelled they shall be, violently as much
As a bubonic deluge from the very ****
Of Belzebub!