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Adasyev Aug 2018
Z iniciativy české státní správy byly na stránky hellopoetry uměle přidány reklamy. Ty se nejprve začaly zobrazovat na stránkách mých textů s cílem je zakrýt a odradit moje čtenáře. Návštěvnost textů byla také bloknuta. Poté, co jsem do profilu přidal info o tom, že se zobrazují jen před mými texty, se začaly zobrazovat už všude. Státní správa se rozhodla kvůli mně ničit i texty druhých. Pro srovnání se můžete na hellopoetry připojit ze zahraničí, zda se zobrazí nějaké reklamy. Cílem je mě donutit k tomu, abych smazal tento účet a svou tvorbu, jako pomsta za mou (možná přehnaně) satirickou tvorbu proti pražské státní správě nebo poslancům. Pokud jsem někoho urazil, tak se mu omlouvám, ale útočné texty pokládám za užitečné a dobré, jak uvádím dál. Nikdo si na ně přímo nestěžoval a pokud ano, tak by bylo nejlepší, kdyby to řekl přímo autorovi, tedy mně. Moje adresa: Mezi Domky 255, 251 68 Kamenice. Cenzuru pomocí reklamy bez dalšího vysvětlení považuju za zbabělou.

V reakci na cenzuru a reklamy jsem smazal několik textů, které zasahovaly do osobnostních práv lidí, kteří se jich žádným způsobem po mně nedomáhali anebo neměli odvahu to udělat. Likvidaci nebo poškození zla považuju za dobrou věc. Agresi proti úřední nebo institucionální (firemní) nadřazenosti, která někoho druhého považuje za nekompetentního a ne sobě rovného považuju za dobro, které přináší změnu v myšlení. Rozhodne lepší a lepší ovlivní víc lidí. Můj text v angličtině ("A message from me") platí dál, po smazaní špiclovského účtu (můžou si založit nový) smažu i ten.

Zpráva zaslaná uživateli hellopoetry.com/retardnnn:
Predchozi upravou jsem tady skoncil. Navzdy. Muzete pracovat az do dalsiho ministra vnitra nebo reditele BIS nebo deseti dalsich, az do konce veku.

Ještě chci dodat, že "likvidací" myslím hlavně literární zesměšnění, které mělo v této zemi vždycky tradici. Původní inspirací napsat krátkou prózu "Bezdomovci z kolonie Bubenské nábřeží založili kurýrní společnost" bylo dokázat si, že dokážu napsat něco satirického, tak jak to udělal třeba Jaroslav Hašek. Moje texty vadí právě proto, že jsou dobře napsané a jsou úspěšné. Kdyby dobré nebyly, nikdo by se jimi nezabýval a nemusel je cenzurovat. Pokud mě chcete posuzovat, věřte při čtení hlavně sami sobě, ne informacím někoho druhého, a už vůbec ne státem placeným trollům na sociálních sítích. Žijeme v době druhé normalizace. Pokud nemáte odvahu a vlastní názor, tak v ní žijte dál. Uznávám, že v textu "Orangutani z pavilonu Indonéská džungle založili Poslaneckou sněmovnu ČR" jsem to přehnal a bezdůvodně pourážel hodně lidí. I těch slabších a citlivějších, kteří se nemůžou bránit. Hlavním podnětem k jeho napsání byly ale agresivní reklamy (bannery) ODS, které se mi neustále zobrazovaly na mých vlastních stránkách adasyev.deviantart.com a ve kterých se autoři snažili rýmovat, stejně jako já.

Zkusím vysvětlit některé rýmy:
"Vlez na úřad a všechno sněz, Praha volí ODS".
Narážka na člena ODS JUDr. Luboše Záveského, vedoucího inspektora OIP Praha. Jeho činnost spočívá v tom, že u práce, kde nedostanete ani minimální hodinovou mzdu, dal takovým podnikatelům ještě lepší smlouvy než před kontrolou. Z pokuty, kterou inspektoři vyinkasují od podnikatele za nelegální práci, si sami sjednali odměny (vedle státního platu). Touto námezdnickou prací jsem si prošel.

"Kdo nedává na žrádlo, sponzoruje divadlo."
Narážka na pražskou podnikatelku Ing. Hanu Černochovou, majitelku superúspěšného švarcsystémového podvodu s názvem eKuryr, s.r.o. Paní majitelka se svým manželem byla nebo je mecenáškou Národního divadla v Praze. Na to, že podnikání této firmy je v podstatě sofistikovaný podvod, jsem přišel já, ne státní úředníci, a to ve stížnosti dostupné na tinyurl.com/svarcsystem. Po odečtení nákladů na provoz si kurýr s osobním autem v podstatě nic nevydělá a díky tomuto podvodu firma docilovala nejnižších cen na trhu.

Rovněž třeba parodie "Prague Connection" byla inspirována jiným autorem, který zase parodoval některé verše z mojí tvorby. Nic není bez příčiny... Ani já.

A tak dál
a tak dál
nic jsem tady nenapsal
jen tak

pro nic za nic.

Svoje básně přesunu na nové místo, protože je o ně zájem. Nemůžu už tady zveřejňovat žádné další nové příspěvky. Když to udělám, jsou na veřejném profilu smazány (pro ČR). Takže tento text je jediným způsobem komunikace se čtenáři. Upozorňujte na cenzuru a sdílejte moji tvorbu. Díky, L.

POZNÁMKA: Počet zhlédnutí tohoto textu, tak jak je dole, je ZFALŠOVÁN, s cílem vytvořit dojem, že ** už vlastně nikdo nečte. Aktuální zamrzlá hodnota je 34 (5. 8. 2018). Vyzkoušejte sdílení tohoto textu a uvidíte, zda číslo stoupá nebo ne. Číslům u ostatních básní se teď už také nedá věřit.

AKTUALIZACE: Hodnota zfalšována (snížena) na 45, opět bloknuta. Jako nové číslo se může objevit cokoliv a bude opět bloknuté.

AKTUALIZACE: Místo reklam se může zobrazit rádobyvěrohodný inzerát na sponzorování tohoto serveru. Server Hellopoetry je ale dobrovolně financován členy komunity bez zobrazování jakýchkoliv poutačů nebo reklam. Díky tomu je zachována grafická čistota textů básní. Srovnejte při připojení ze zahraničí.

AKTUALIZACE 22. 4. 2021: Co se tady na Hello Poetry vlastně stalo, doteď nevím. Moje nové příspěvky se nezobrazí na mojí profilové stránce. Při aktualizaci anglického textu A Message From Me byl po přihlášení k mému účtu na zadávací stránce vložen škodlivý HTML kód, který periodicky útočil na operační paměť a shazoval prohlížeč. Došlo k prohození napsaných odstavců v mém textu A Message From Me, kdy verze, která se zobrazovala veřejnosti po odhlášení z účtu, se lišila od originální uložené verze se správným pořadím odstavců. Tento samotný český text byl zpočátku (srpen 2018) zcela překryt nesmyslným obřím černobílým bannerem s nápisem Sudoku, který se prodlužoval na výšku této stránky jak rostla návštěvnost mojí výzvy. Samotné počty zhlédnutí/přečtení tohoto a jiných mých textů jsou skutečně zamrzlé, tj. nerostou pro různé unikátní IP adresy i identity (testoval jsem s prohlížečem Tor). Soudě podle publikovaných textů ostatních uživatelů z Hello Poetry, jejich zkušenosti s tímto webem jsou rovněž podivné, např. někdo uvedl, že nemůže psát vůbec komentáře (to by vysvětlovalo, proč můj text A Message From Me se současnou návštěvností téměř 22 tisíc přečtení nemá ani jeden komentář; to je to, co vidím po přihlášení ke svému účtu). Při mé snaze logicky vytěsnit překrývající reklamy, kdy jsem se domníval, že jsou dílem inteligentního útočníka, jsem paralelně napsal anglický text A Message From Me a toto české Sdělení. K odkazům pro veřejnost jsem použil krátké odkazy služby tinyurl.com. Při jejím opětovném využívání během zdejšího zápasu s reklamou se mně najednou reklamním bannerem zcela překrylo i zadávací políčko pro adresu na stránce tinyurl.com, tak, že služba bez blokovače reklam nešla vůbec použít. Celá věc na mě působila tak, že si ze mě dělá nebo dělají srandu nějací počítačoví šachisté s plošným přístupem k serverům a alespoň částečnou možností modifikace přenášených dat. K účtu hellopoetry.com/retardnnn se pojí rovněž fiktivní jméno "Sarai Hladká" a další podivný účet instagram.com/adamlanza92 (podle jména a roku narození amerického masového vraha). Tento instagramový účet měl před pár lety v popisku text právě jen "Sarai Hladká", tedy stejná "sara" aneb retardnnn, který mě měl mezi sledovanými zde na Hello Poetry v červenci 2018 (a který nebo která má účet taky na deviantart.com/retardnnn). Pokud náhodou víte nebo tušíte, čí je to účet, anebo máte nějaké nápady a připomínky k výše uvedenému, uvítám vaše e-maily na adrese lukas.vejsada@tiscali.cz. Kontaktujte mě také prosím, i pokud narazíte na nějaký "můj" profil na Facebooku. Děkuju, L.

AKTUALIZACE 25. 5. 2021: Profil instagram.com/adamlanza92 byl zrušen.

AKTUALIZACE 14. 6. 2021: Dostal jsem e-mailem reakci k původu účtu hellopoetry.com/retardnnn a dalších. Má jít o účet pubertálního dítěte, pisatel mě ujistil, že rozhodně nejde o účet založený MV ČR nebo BIS.

AKTUALIZACE 6. 10. 2023: Moje zkušenosti (nejenom) s tímto webem jsou nově shrnuty na adrese adasyev.tiiny.site

Krátký odkaz na tuto stránku: https://tinyurl.com/nechcemecenzuru
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
qiss kiss ts'kammen
ordeal of the dyslexics.

****** innuendos aplenty:

i cycled with a rucksack full of empty cider bottles
and one tiny 35cl where whiskey would
otherwise be found... i have a fetish for recycling,
a fetish for recycling, not owning a car but rather
two bicycles, long walks in the forest alone,
scratching my head and pretending to braid parts
of my beard: rather, pinching it and twisting the pinched
part so it might appear that i have saber-teeth either side
of my chin...
                   little pleasures...
i would otherwise be known as a: KLOSZER...
KLOSZ... lampshade... kloszer is a derogatory term
for someone in Eastern Europe who collects empty bottles
from skips to later bring back to a shop
to get his WACŁO (VATSWO) - i guess i imagined this word:
in the olden days of the early 1990s...
us boys used to play during the summer running mayhem,
on our breaks we'd go to the shop and buy
TURBO gum, chew chew chew...
and have a little prized paper of a car,
and we used to buy lemonade, later pepsi...
if we bought a lemonade (always in a glass bottle)
and drank it on the spot, returned the bottle to the shop...
we weren't charged extra for the drink...
but if we decided to buy a glass-bottled drink and not
return the bottle on the spot? we'd get charged extra:
glass was precious under communism...
KLOSZER? the person who would scout the urban
environment and pick up leftover glass bottles
for a drink of *****... but i'm recycling and i feel mightily
proud of... "proud"... of this Achilles heel...
baron of crashing chandeliers...
                     but it wasn't raining when i performed this task...
when i cycled to the VAPE shop on North St.
inquiring... i was giving this ASPIRE Typhon 100 as
a present... but the more my lips and breath snuggle on
this **** no smoke comes out... and the smoke is harsh...
coils?! coils?! over-used coils?
i walked in to the shop with the sort of would-be
girlfriend with piercings and tattoos
   and all that jingle at the counter... some random guy
sticking around for too long, i broke his train of thought...
i was trying to break past the smoke pretending
there was a dead carcass in the room and instead of smoke
there were flies... **** me... i'm looking for a new coil...
new coil she says... she starts rummaging...
it started raining by then...
           she picked up a £15 packet of five filters... coils...
PnP-VM6... like this sort of detail actually matters...
i ask her... so how do you change them?
she replies: you just pull it out...
so i pull it out... oops...
                     *** scene worded...
my flask is full of blueberry oily liquid... it spills...
all while there's this: now turning into a creepy guy
in the background obviously not buying just
trying to work his game with this woman behind
the counter... the liquid spills...
playful innuendo conversation: oh... i'm not intimidated...
i have underperformed in my life...
not exactly premature *******... it's just when
she's the madam of the "parlour" and i have no energy
and i need to chop my **** off and replace it with a *****
the fluid spills my hands are greasy
she tells me that she'll get the tissue...
oops... once more... obviously it was a super-charged
***-metaphor...
i can't remember the last time i was called HONEY
and the whole affair was brushed off so easily with
***: in my mind, guiltily displaced...
   i bought the filters and pushed when the sign on
the door indicated PULL...
as confused as anyone might be...
when, where? apart from a VAPE shop will you get to pull
out an intricate part of a tool...
spill juices and have a woman retort with: let me get you
some tissues... i mean... that's super-charged Freudian
forbid might have any choking-jokes aside beyond
the already made via innuendo...

i'm richer than the rich having none of their worries
or the follies,
i do own what the rich own: and for that i am
rich in not having to worry about owning
things that might cause me to worry -
                   if it might be only for a minute or two:
this moulded heap of cow dung
    and mud - and milk and water -
   leave behind all the chains of gravity and marry
air: marry air and rise higher to the highest
point - touch the membrane where air disappears
and what is left is the vacuum where stars dictate
what is and what isn't...

or to better translate...

    reading one poem: Zbigniew Herbert's
   Former Masters while listening to Faun's
Sonnenreigen

and as if by magic my knowledge of English
disappears in my mind to a silence...
eaten up twice, ejected thrice!

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

dawni mistrzowie
obywali się bez imion

        (in der goldnen morgenstund
     ziehen wir aus des tales grund)


   ich sygnaturą były
białe palce Madonny  (und wir tanzen
                                               froh hinein
      in den frühen sonnenschein)


albo różowe wieże
   di città sul mare    (hoch hinauf auf bergeshöhen -
                      
  a także sceny z życia
   della Beata Umiltà      / -  um ins auge lughs zu
                                               sehen)


   roztapiali się   (lasst uns feiern
   w sogno              (             diese zeit
miracolo                  ( die der sommer
     crocifissione              ( hält bereit...)

    znajdowali schronienie
pod powieką aniołów        
                                                (du lässt deine raben ziehen
                                               in die felder golden stehen
                                                und das helle lichte rad
                                                dreht sich über lughnasad)


   za pagórkami obłoków
w gęstej trawie raju
                                                (muzik gemisch nach chor)
   toneli bez reszty                                      "
w złotych nieboskłonach                          "
  bez krzyku pzerażenia                            "
bez wołania o pamieć                                "
                         ­                                             "
   powierzchnie ich obrazów                    "
są gładkie jak lustro                 (es war nun ein
                                                             ganzes jahr)


nie są to lustra dla nas      (seit ich dich beim tanze sah
   są to lustra wybranych      (allzu oft in langer nacht)
                                                 habe ich an dich gedacht)
....

     sprawcie niech spadnie ze mnie
wężowa łuska pychy           (könig sommer führt den tanz
                                               dem ich folg im blütenkranz
                                               und so dreht sich unser kreis
                                               in der alltbekannten weis')


  niechaj zostane głuchy
   na pokuszenie sławy    (du lässt deine baben ziehn
                                           in die felder golden stehen
                                              und das helle lichte rad
                                              dreht sich über lughnasad)


/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

ehemalige meister
sie lebten mich selber
    ohne namen

       (w porannej godzinie, złotej)
    pull us from the grand valleys...
oh ****... incursion of the English:
the red-coats are coming!

       ciągnąć nas z wielkich dolin...

   ihr unterschrift war
weiß finger Madonna  (i my tańczyli
                                               radośni zu-hausen, W
                                 wwww to:
schdat:  frühen-para-freeze: fruit:
early... sonnenschein - sun-lighting
oblivion... sun-glee: shine...)


oder rosa türme
   di citta sul mare    (wysokie
                 ÚP z  
wyżyny górskie -
                      
  und auch sZenen mit leben
   della Beata Umilta      / -  um ins auge lughs zu
                                               sehen)


geschmolzen sich   (liście nas świętować  
in sogno              (             ten czas
miracolo                  ( there the summer, to i too
                                           that: there, the: to i too:
                                        ta jedyna stokroć:
                                         zerk chłodem oka: powieka...
                                   okno na świat... rano:
                                              i modłem: terz:
                                          anatomia bosa noga...
                                    dzicz: bosa noga boga...
rap rap... all that rap might bring to suffice:
the polyglot presence of an African incursion
into Europe... mumble mumbo jam: tát tát... jum-b'oh!

a thought experiment one awry: trying to exclude
English from my psyche for a little while
proved insufferable, even if listening to a song
on Deutsche and reading a Polieren script...
sneaky ******* has a way to return...
i wanted to keep a perfect translation
of: reading a script in Polieren while listening
to a song in Deutsche...
subsequently translating the read Polieren
into Deutsche and reimagining hearing Deutsche
al Polieren... not in the right interest of
the English philosophy ("esoteric aesthetic")
of queuing... ****** just butter in: elbows held high!

SMUTNA SUKNIA: OGIER: PEJCZ!
   co stonoga-noga-o-gołą: nogę...
widmo... język... mów a mowa...
                                     bzdeta: mów!
ogier: stonoga... wilko-kroć...
  step... mowa: noga... ogień: zór...
jęk: kleṅska: ogień: ozór...
                            język: ksieżyc...
ogień: rosputsta: i nadal mi brak słów!

     crocifissione              (trzyma gotowość...)

    sie fanden zuflucht
unter augenlid auf engel        
                                                (wypuszczasz swoje kruki
                                               by stanąć na złotych polach
                                                i koło jasnego światła
                                                zakręty samo-w-się nad
                                                lughnasad!)
 ­                                     

   hinter hügel wolken
in der dicke gras auf paradies
                                                (muzyka­: tylko muzyka,
                                                     bez, słów)

   sie ertranken ohne der rest                    "
im golden himmelneigung                       "
  ohne schrei auf grusel                             "
ohne anruf um erinnerung                       "
                                                               ­       "
   oberflächen ihr gemälde                        "
sind glatt wie spiegel                 (to był jeden dobry
                                                           ­  cały rok)


nien sind dies spiegel für uns
   sind sie diesser spiegel die ausgewählt

                                               (odkąd ja i ty na tańcu okiem wgląd
                                               także często w dłuższej nocy)
                                               miałem ja, myśl twoją)

....

     mach es möglich lassen werde fallen
    von mich
serpentin schale auf stolz  
                           (król lato prowadzi taniec
                           za którym podążam w wieńcu kwiatów
                           i tak obraca się nasz krąg
                           w znany sposób)


  lassen ich werde bleiben taub
   an verlockung von / auf
                       RUHM        (pozwalasz odejść swoim dzieciom
                                              stanąć na złotych polach
                                              i koło jasnego światła
                                              odwraca Lughnasad -

                                      
płuco - singular... plural?
   płuca... lungs....
    garden of breathing!
soul always escapes the noun...                       

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

just to double check, translating from ******
to German and German to English,
that how i would have otherwise arrived
on these shores if my only mode of transport
was the tongue:
if i had no legs and perhaps no eyes...
if i were an idea of English that could express
it as I, Ja, Ich...
        and, yes, theirs'...
       iota > whatever might come after...

ah! this is one of those thought experiments!
it has to be! i'm excited!
i'm truly awakened!
this muddle of memory, dream, imagination,
reality a sprinkle of words and hey presto!
starved from images having moved
from the Age of the Image
to the Age of the Music...
it's so simple...
once upon a time you could only hear
music if someone played it good
or you played it badly...

yet when someone wrote a word...
or when someone painted a painting...
it could be written once
yet preserved by time
by this ingenious overcoming of God
(no, not man)
and if god "wrote" mountain man "wrote"
Pyramid,
if god "wrote" river man "wrote":
boat bridge watermill...
if god "wrote" forest man "wrote":
pluck out these trees stop looking
for berries and mushrooms...
look for grass, edible grass! find me arable
land that's not a desert!
of once mountain ranges that passed
from time into non-history
    into keepers of time by the whims
of the fluted wind...
                  
by wind my breath...
by my breath the decay of creative rust...
     i can only create dead things...
with me the power of death-creativity...
i invented the stirrup with me gone
the horse might finally not graze so easily
after the work of civilization has been done...

only then might the four horsemen
come with me dead and the stirrup
   i can only create dead things...
i am the death-creativity...
with me there will not need for the fork
or the knife the spear and the rope
upon waking a new world
i will only know words like mountain
apple tree i will know the word cloud
i will know to say the sea and that sea
i will call the caspian sea: sea...
and the atlantic sea: sea...
    and i will call the Danube the Oder
and the Oder the Vistula
but i will not know what is Danube or Oder
i will be unable to say or dream or conjure
a fork without: the fork
i will be in Paradise...
i will not know the concept of ******
because there will be no word for ******
there will be no Madonna or pregnant woman
there will be no foetus there will be so many words
missing! so many words will be missing...
all the basic words of coordination
will be there: and the Highest Abstracts
will be there: will, hope, dream,
    there will be there: be, am and i,
             there will be: because, are you,
there will be giggle and there would be crying,
there would be sad and there would be happy...
there would be: because and after and by
and there would be...
there would be no knowledge nor anything
concerning grammar...
this revision of "vocabulary" would imply
there being no real vocabulary,
a dream-world vocabulary of:
if said thing goes not exist... there's no word for it...
there would be no word: hammer
because there would be no need for hammers
indeed: nails...
motion of hammering...
there might be a rock and a trick of a hardened shell...
there would be no word for distance:
mile... by looking upon the sun...
there would be the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee... there would
be no Night no Nothing
    no Night in this Hanging Pyramid of Babel...

there would be no Moon or Sun
only the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee...
Glee? SH.... what's SH in shIMMER?
what's IMMER?
(oops... a Socratic stumbling block)
   immer... ALWAYS...
      what's SH+H? shh? be quiet always?!
SH... sound, vibration is sound...
            shh! yes: i'm telling you: it's going to be
like that, always...
   promised you 72 virgins?
wouldn't you just want your mind un-muddled?!
what's un- and muddled?
un- is not... not of when coupled to a noun
that works like a verb... doing the muddling...
medley muddling mummifications: toilet... paper...

toilet? no... no knowledge of toilet in "heaven"...
no paper too...
     word... what's word?
God... what is God... no God...
word is the a priori already invested crown
of curtailing words to begin with...
not imitation sound: __S

ah... sobering up... i love this bouncing along of English
dynamic like everyone is invoked to be involved...

                                          Z__­___

that's how the West met the East in writing

Z_________S

my "god" will be the word ONOMATOPOEIA...
and his son will be MIMIC
and his wife will be NĀMÉ
                        alternative written by angels
as NAMEH... because by then only angels will have
knowledge of the clue, not God,
of YHWH... YHWH will become as comical
as the 21st graffiti spray-painted by some boy
in the outskirts of London...
this scribble should have been preserved by the angels,
but like Prometheus, the arch angel Samael
brought down this scribble...

they brought the mummies and their hieroglyphs
that turned out to be Emoticons...
the Egyptians had two brothers...
the brother Aztec who copied the eldest
brother, Egyptian in constructing the Pyramids
and brother of the Great O of the Orient
who squinted his eyes with avarice and lineage
and said: i'll write like you, i'll see through you...
you give me mummified bodies
i'll give you skeletons...
the Aztec was the youngest,
the Egyptian the Eldest...
  the Khan was in the middle...
and Khan was right... he employed a pre-digitalisation
of scripts... imagine throwing
the letter G into Egyptian hieroglyphs...
some ****** did that to Khan's great counter
of hieroglyphs full bodied...
to hieroglyphs pure skeleton...
prior to Latin: not even Greek was a skeleton-key?
what? letters marrying numbers?!
unheard of?

1111111... one... lllllll (little l)... IIIIIIII (big iota)

imagine dropping a latin letter into Egyptian
"script"...
look what happened when someone dropped
something foreign into
Chinese hieroglyphs and so was born
Katakana... Chinese hieroglyphs came first...
then came Katakana...
then came the elevated:
if the story is true... and the Austrians
think themselves better than the Germans...
someone gave birth to the scribbles...
Korean came last...

       that feeling you get when you're trying to look
for an actor's name:
he playss the role of Grand-Duke?
Emperor? of the Habsburg Dynasty...
the elder brother of Marie Antoinette...
beautiful actor...
                          lips like purses...
who threw that ******* bone against the Chinese
hieroglyphs that spawned Japanese minimalism
that translated: ha! translated Chinese through
Japanese to Korean... split the ******* in two...
towing two! towing two!
                          Zhin Chin ****... silly!
   i'm not joking...
           Žin vs. Żyn... Rzym! Rzym... Rome! Rome!
hmm...
           Źın...          Žiń...
  
ha ha... the Nazis smoked out the son of the devil
of the people who gave them abode for almost...
whenever Poland, converted (insert a snigger...
i have the noun-spelling for it...
but not the onomatopoeia, ha ha... laughter
and rugby)...

change of direction at work...
i'm feeling an aura of: DISTANCING...
people are feeding off the appetite of me: leaving...
and their lives being over...
of course they will not be over...
they'll be feet in not worn shoes
in shoes boxes on shelves in libraries
of fickleness of the female side of humanity...
only angels should have been given
the crack-head code of the 4 letter "signature" of
YHWH... i'll give Jesus credit...
well... Beelzebub...

HANGU:L! that ingenious king of Korea
that: seeing a stick being thrown
at a bunch of sticks assembled as a shelter
of the Chinese hieroglyphs witnessed as the Japanese
folded... worked on an argument
of introspection: kept it...
hmm... what are those weird ISLADERS
******* around it?
they have the BOLD katakana
and the ITALIC hiragana...
two ******* trenches...
just let some westerner know:
the Hiroshima (katakana)
and the Nagasaki (hiragana)...

   Chernobyl and Fukushima...
the pregnant women were advised to drink iodine...
boom! boom! boom!
ergo? no real, comparatively: "boom" as boom!
or  BOOM...

it's the second morning i'm woken up from briefly dreaming...
point about dreaming? the content doesn't matter...
i'm not a hyper-focused Freud...
dreams are dreams in
how fog is fog and a hurricane is  hurricane...
dreaming heavily:
you feel exhausted if you slept for 10 hours
or 5... dreamless...
you slept: you didn't dream...
but dreams creep up on you:
they play fakery with your body:
you weren't sleeping: you were dreaming...
unlike getting blind drunk
and... sleeping: not dreaming...
with the lesser baggage(d) people...
snails? no... elephants! no ivory tusks...
already no fur... no drunks...
edible cartilage of the ears...
flapping... hmm... i might have to invent
a rug... a place to take off one's shoes...
shoe?
shoe prior to sock? obviously...
shoe prior to sock...
sexed up legs... procreation by the chemical
demise of acting...
if not sold to actors:
a god-send...
i could **** each any every ugly *****
but... god almighty... the impossible feats...
with Xerxes on your back?
the second battalion ambush of Greece?!

currently as is "currently": and, ahem... "history":
a history of plug-hole psychology
of inescapable Darwinism: cuckoldry...
or Plato's ***** joke about the feminism
of Hindus and their tired, wasted concern for Hygiene...
they bathed with the dead...
so the dead came and ate up the living...

for the past days... of note... two...
upon waking i hear my name being called:
Mateusz!
not twice, thrice, just... once...
i rush down and ask my mother: have i overslept?!
did you call me?
the replies: no... i haven't called you...
why am i: Matthew?
                     i don't think i'm: Matthew Smith
or a Matthew Czopek or a Matthew Eschlert..
or a Matthew Matthews...
why was Jesus Christ not Jesus ben Josephus
ben Matthias?
                i wonder... not really: "wandering"...

it was but a little nugget of inspiration of marijuana
and i went off the tangent...
i would not replicate the original ******
poem into German
   and the German song into ******...
because... springboard og ingenuity
English woke up!
as if: spontaneously...
i can't appreciate poetry written by
mono-linguists or ****-up: kissy: tut-tut..
smooch kiss-up immigrant ****-wits
of: this is only a Lingua FRANCA...
"franca"... a tourist-tongue...
it's a ***** tongue...
people speak it, leave it, abandon it...
sometimes perhaps frame it...
it's a tongue of commerce and Babel
and... at the end of all the tongues coming
together to speak it...
a rather: unsatisfying tongue...
over-salted... over-pompously-self-solidifying
complicated-soliloquy... solipsism...
something this: that: self-
    +-evidently apparent that children ought to
be teaching this modus operandi... *******... ha ha!

letter will not be know since words will not be known,
we will, although know words, that will be sounds
not scribbled down, imagination will be
nullified and nothing will be born with sleep
and dreaming will be alien to us,
since we will not be myopic
*** will be friendship and: we will know not
the word for tool and the specifics of ingenuity
and genius...
there will be no word for man...
and there will be no word for woman
and there will be no diatribe of death and child...

my uncle is in hell and i can almost count
this auditory hallucination:
i will have no concept of auditory: because i heard...
within the non-existence of my bones
and body and blood and brain and heart
in the water and earth turning to air
with each breath...
i will not hear... how my uncle: calls for me...
and how did you live with your mother,
when she aged to a nearing rot...
i lived with them and not people i would exchange
for a properly working bicycle-lock...

for each ******* i would replace the glorious
half hours i had with them
the months i spent with my supposed "lovers"...
i'd take one half hour with a *****
to replace the courting with said woman: unsaid:
to procreate and teach "my" children:
children of the times... flawed lessons
of the march, ancient march of typology
and non-writing and Time as Dust...

am i to help you when i implored the non-existent
deity into my *****,
indirectly you might implore for me:
will i reply to the heaven sent:
what am i to do?!
do as i did: absolutely nothing and nothing too,
that's twice that's hardly not a scone
scuffed and chained to Baron Zung...

            speak two tongues and tease a third...
come the fourth... letters have to turn into images...
in this heaven of no sheltered virgins..
in my noun-basket i will not have words
like pen, or: boiler, roof, eyeliner,
i will not have:
          screen, cinema, actor,
           philosopher, poet, psychologist,
soul: i'll have my self-eating cannibalism of breath...
verbs will merge with nouns
and the only nouns worth existing thereby will
be: specified and "corrupt" by a localised
specialisation:

                 god will be ONOMATOPOEIA...
the son will be MIMIC
and there: within the confines of said time
MIMIC will battle Chimera...
MIMIC will look alike: Chimera
but Chimera alphabetically:

    CHIMERA = ACEHIMR

                   the dead are not so displeasing
when it comes to the living-as-if-dead...
and there are plenty of those
living such: body-and-soul-crushing...
no... i couldn't imagine myself marrying
a troll... just to somehow oddly fit it...
i'm not going to reply to a message:
me and Nicki... says Frankie... are over...
reply: to what? and did you hear
my side of the story? no? no?!
i don't have to hear your side, either!
oculus per oculus!
like for like:
dislike for dislike!

           i'll wait... i'm not actually waiting
for anything other than:
can you please leave me alone?
i'll reply you whenever i feel like it...
i don't feel like
wanting human connection for at least
two days...

there's a hell and a privacy one earns to have
earned it that one rarely wants to
have it made public...
albeit in the "public anonymous"...
all the more willingly... since no immediate
consequences are to  be met: face-to-no-face...
tired of replies...
walking lesbians into the night
is like pretending to not walk
cows into the slaughterhouse...
ego-***** replacing what once was?
Plato the Plumber and the blocked toilet
of reincarnation...
i'm done with pride... Herr Dapf...

             for the waiting to be dead,
falte der primast schattierung:
für das Warten tot zu sein:
ich möchte auch tot sein...

   a death with the hollows
of the hallowed wooded emptied bark....
suffer the sound of a thunder-stroke...
donnerschlaganfall:
all aligned with things living...
nearly: or waiting to be towed toward
A... death...

           morgen?
                          tòmāté...
*******: SPUD!
           morgen butter-kneaded? by the hollows
of said, suggested juices..
my knees are not enough:
meine knie sind nicht genug!
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

  integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
    i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
  i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
   i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

   if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
          ringo star h'ahmed...
  george ali...
                paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
  i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
              and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
        but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
        right on the plonker...
                 i'm not finished!
                        i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
   4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
  (one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
                   12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

    gehirnablassen...
                   brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
   for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
     graphemes: sz phi theta
      compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
       brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
    virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
   german 19th century fascination
with islam...
     θought and φilosophy...
   greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

1.

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
czytając filozofie po polsku, ojciec mój który wyrósł na chemika obudził dziecie, a dziecie pochłoneło ojca mówiąc: od teraz zaczne, carpe annum, carpe zenith ex tempus, filozofia z logiki czy to z rzeczy rosnących - i w garści magika które wzamian za słowa hocus pocus wymawiane są słowa jan nowak urodzony czwartego kwietnia roku 1912 / zmarł rokiem 1973; czy to z rzeczy stabilnych w sensie inspectio ex continuum, czy też na skali micro (atomów), czy też macro (gwiazd); to ja wydam wartości nie-czytne mym ozorem, abyś ty zerknoł na to co jest warte czytania - obudź mnie w ciele ośmio latka twym ciałem dwudziesto latka... bo sam wiesz że przez tyle lat, nic cie nie nauczono -nawet ten bat i ta dysciplina nie wzruszyła cie aby zgodzić się na kawe przy domu pogrzebowym wraz z myślą: jaki to ma być, ten nowy samochód? z dala - ‘taki aby i trumna też mogła zapiąć pasy.’*

zza młodu dziad powiada wnukowi: matematyka, fizyka i sport...
przed dziada rokiem młody odpowiada:
chłód zimy, spacer i myśl;
kocham obiekt zwany kobieta... lecz nie temat...
mój sam bardziej wypełnia sześć kątów niż jej obecność zmartwień,
co jest jakby gra przegrana, więź tematyki mniej
jako wąż a bardziej jak glizda...
lecz chodząc miedzy kratami i domami anglii dostatku...
widze więcej glizd niż kobr czy też pytonów...
skoro geneza słowa jest brana od onomatopeji imitacji bydła,
nic dziwnego że my tesz na bydło zeszli
biorąc teorie lingwistyki darwina przez ch i es -
nic dziwnego że nie jego,
ale czemu brać pod uwage słowem: jak się widzi
kogoś pukającego w dzrwi w tle “słów”
jakby nie jeden knock-knock żart, więcej limit
tego że z nie animowanych rzeczy nic mądrego nie przyjdzie -
tym bardziej dodając do słownika -
jeno ta pierwsza lekcja zagrożenia małpy bez drzewa
z tym pyskaczem wężem, czyż nie?
jaki jest sens utkwić nową lekcje od rzeczy samych
niewinnych swoją interakcją z cieniem lecz bez machania...
jakie zagrożenie od nich? ah wiem, jeno arachnofobia wedle
kamyka rozmiarem ciągu gór mienia: tatry.
więc szkeliet tego boga zwany: komunikat - przez poetów
wyzwany na igrek i mieszanke czasu w pralce
czystości pomieszany: czerń i biel nada szary -
aby zerknąć w igły dotyku bez wargi,
aby te zagrorzenia zostały które miały znaczyć że
zeszły nam z drogi... aby potem tym samym małpim okiem
patrzyć na rzecz dosyć stabilną i sprawdzić istnienie atomowego ruchy
w stajni, między ślepotą a ruchem, mgłą a cieniem.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2023
there is a very infamous instance of bez-osobowość
when you cross the Polish border at the airport
and get searched...
the celniks (guards) - provided you know the zunge:
will address you in a without-person(ality)
language / syntax...

how / i.e.? verb laden, verb exclusively,
averting pronoun usage...
i guess this is a counter to what....

oh i love Jordan Peterson aging and in full
schematic rearrangement of
post-modernistic mode "word salad"
buzzing... i'm buzzing too:

two nuggets of verbal beauty: a shine
on a sheen...
sheen being the already available glit of
a metal... shine being if a metal is exposed
to light and almost, "almost" reacts like
water or mirror...

- negotiating identity into adulthood...
- "terrible war in our culture"

     what war? what culture: to be exact...
cf. kołakowski's: culture and fetishes...
really? is there a culture "war" or simply...
this is not a war "war": this is a civilian fetishazation
of combat... this is passive-aggressiveness
of atomized-***-drive-derivatives
a cis-mutation parody regarding
a concept of: species...
this is one massive a-hole (forgot the bomb)
of an anti-Darwinism...
one might stretch it to the extent of calling
it liberal Darwinism...
or: on the basis of a humanistic whim
we can't harness the power of a lightning strike
nor can we harness the winds of a tornado...
but we'll sure as ****: make pretty boa-constrictive
grammar out of how we forget about trading,
capital...

identity "politics"?

- ideas of identity are narrow, hedonistic,
unsophisticated, self-serving...
- identity groups: whim-based, ****** identities,
race, ethnic...
- predicated on the notion of the immediacy
of...
- you're not a *** machine...
- anxiety hopelessness misery...
- subsidiary solution
- integrated self...

   hmm... so not the differentiating self of self?
to integrate a self "off" a self: toward the self?

consumer model?
integrating integers or integrating the collapse
of fractions?

a poem written while listening to a podcast
rather than music, which would be echo chamber
solipsism...

- play with someone else...
- invite someone else...
- there's you and now there's you that's a husband...
- responsibilities and opportunities...
- not gratifying your short term whims...

fair enough... go on herr doktor...

- immaturity vs. non-negotiation...
- learn to love someone...
- 20 years ago: self-consciousness and negative emotion
on par...
- flesh yourself out...           stretch...

huh? community? what community?
i have lived across from my neighbours for over 20
years and the closest i got to them
was when she and her daughters paraded
naked in the bedroom and later
moved on to getting another hubby...
married or "married"...
cohabitation... moved across the street
two doors down and still no ******* conversation
about: oh the weather is dreary and oh:
the garbage men forgot to take my garbage
or: oh the traffic is bad blah blah...

- definition definition definition:

the defining of the finite
the indefinitable infinite...
time is a flexibility of not counting / not measuring...

in out in out

- no action without the good...
ah... nugget! finally!

- consumerist capitalism
- idiocies of a degenerate protestant liberalism
driven by postmodernism...

well, given that when Moses spoke to unsaid X
said: ehyeh asher ehyeh...

i.e. i am: that         ↓
                        → i am ←
                                ↑

and not... i am what i am... since...
there's a clear distinction between the pronoun
'that' and 'what'...
conclusively...
by 'that' i'm implying vectors...
by 'what' i'm implying: questions...

what? well what?!

i am what:                 !
                             ?  i am  ?
                                     !

but Moses wasn't interrogated in a what whom
fashion, no: i am what i am spoke to him:
who spoke to Moses?
i am: that, i am...

  that... precisely that, i am that: who?
would god ask who of / off who of / off himself?

i still find it preposterous that this commandment
is so vague on the Islamic mind
as to not cherish the name Allah
but shout it while killing innocents:
and in his greatness the jinn swarm
to take the metaphysical procrastinators to
the hell of the 72 "virgins"...

la ilaha illa allah -

    mind you: the Maltese word for god is
borrowed from the Saracens
and is also blahllah... no: allah...
all? ah!
a relief it would seem...
how easily you could censor that word out
of a person's vocabulary and not take it in vain...
it's a Hebrew game i very much like playing
since i make-oaths of ****'s ******* ****
like a cobbler...

i still can't figure out whether to think of
culture wars as civilian fetishes of warfare or not..
culture war is a fetishised term...
war is a fetish term for poets who
are living out a rigor mortis of intellect...

now for the gates...

א                                                      ­               ע
    
i might be behind the literature,
what i know is: kametz (a)
     tzeré (e)
                  chirek (i)
cholem (o)
                       shurek (u) - pentagram...

hmm... Greek Satanism... which is not very much like
WASP Satanism that mingled neo-******
with a sour-**** vibrancy of proto-*** chimps
of the North American "sentiment"...

the revised niqqud from the niqqud
i learnt outside the realms of the internet is as above
(cf. aryeh kaplan meditation and kabbalah
samuel weiser inc. box 612
york beach, maine 03910
isbn 0-87728-616-?)

chirek became hiriq (בִ - i.e. BI - ב, bet hiriq) - i
kametz became patach kamatz gadol (בַ בָ - b'ah) - a
tzeré became segol zeire (בֶ בֵ - i.e. b'eh) - e
cholem became holam (בֹ - b'oh) - o
and...
shurek became kubutz shuruk (בֻ וּ - BAV) - u

a story of the gate:
א                                                          ­           ע
(ayin)                                                     (alef)

through which: הה Heh and Heh walked through
to find the husbands י (yod)
  and ו (vav)... oh sure: bot sisters...
Heh and Heh walked through these gate(s)...
and so became coupled into a name best associated
with "jehowa": i.e. he who hides them (vowels)
like the niqqud and the niqab...
some sort of conspiracy theory against
a society built upon monogamy...

so i met this pretty little 5ft2 36D Puerto Rican
all the way in Hawaii, or to be more specific: Kauai...
on the internet...
and since any mention of formality and inception
i'm on the phone to her every Sunday
(and i'll probably call her today:
Monday's and Tuesday's are her days off)
and we talk for an hour and i feel: ****...
only 10 minutes have passed...

but i'm still engaged with the current trend of anti-cinema...
culture war my ***...
a bit like revising that vision of St. John's...
believe you me when i say:
four horsemen... and one donkey-rider...
so that's 5 riders... the donkey rider
being obviously slower than death
since he'd be the one riding last giggling his ***
off... maybe him and the donkey would
be laughing... maybe even a talking donkey...
the vision is grotesque:
hyper-parody of Islam stealing the "saviour"...

now i know why i didn't drop any acid or ingest
any magic mushrooms...
this one time in Amsterdam me and this
Egyptian were mesmerised or rather fearful
having drank some ***** and smoked some marijuana
watching these two roomates of ours in a hostel
ingest magic mushrooms and waste the experience
on watching American Dad on t.v. in a darkened room...
Germans: so go figure... p.t.s.d. of history
or whatever you want to call it...
you'd think that ingesting psychadelics
you'd want to be in the sunshine in a forest
for some transcendental speech impediment onset...
not some dingy hostel room watching t.v., right?

case? the opposite, ingest some alcohol, fast,
then think about the hebrew alphabet...

yes, the great advent of anti-cinema...
a cultural shift...
when actors became producers...
notably? true detective... starring matthew mcconaughey
and woody harrelson...
when actors became executive producers...
perfect hell-storm to **** of cinema franchises
for the children...
from the days of: parents go out for a date
and employ a babysitter to...
kids go out and shoot up laughing gas
and eat fast food and fast **** in an alley
while the parents sit indoors and watch decent content...
maybe because actors have more time
therefore more freedom to feel into their roles
maybe because to write something good
you need to waffle for more than the space
of ~3h or like a pop song becomes prog-rock
after the 3min mark?!

in a way modern Polish "behaves", or rather:
is structured like ancient Latin
in the pronouns can be omitted to give meaning
to sentences:

ja myśle (i think) can simply be expressed
as myśle (pronoun-verb) compound of (i) think:
thinking... myśl (thought) myślenie (thinking)...

i.e. cogito ergo sum is a summary of
current Polish...
since there's no need for:
ego cogito ergo ego sum...
there's no need for i think therefore i am:
there's an anti-pronoun imperative
in sentence structure...
this without-personhood dynamic
perfectly compliments...
the anglo-protestant queer fetish for
exemplifying the plurality of it
via they...

       also...
borrowing from Greek Satanism the pan-Slavic
distinctiveness of
the following:

     щ: šč          ?: ść

deszcz: dešč: H hiding, or how the hebrew god
lingers in European psyche...
funny... that the **** Germans thought
themselves as Aryans...
given that the Polacks from the 15th century
onward compassed the arrival of an Iranian
tribe of... no... not Samaritans...
but the Sarmatians...

deszcz: rain
    dość: enough...

szczerość: ščerość: truthfulness...

i never thought the fetishes would spill out
and over into my reaching out with my tentacles
and start to... squeeze... out all the fetishes
into apple pulp sort of goo of glue sort
of averting the nasal thrill...

for a people who made ***-identity into politics
like Darwin and the lesbian faction of
existence running its course: cul de sac
existentialism of ******-identity politics
"politics": these days you have to say
"red" red... "blue" blue...
"train" train...

  mein englischleash: nein nein: niet ein leine!

what culture war?
perhaps a cultural lethargy, a cultural exhaustion?
i can see it as that... but a war?
for what? a quibble?
a ******* carrot on a stick?
a war for a donkey?
no one spotted the unearthing of the Nag Hammadi
library coinciding with the Dead Sea Scrolls,
how Isaiah died (being mutilated
at the torso, cut in half)
and how "suddenly" Christianity quivered its
last to estrange the European ontology
from the European will borrowing
from the nurture of winter in the Hyperborean
realm of melancholic rejuvenation of intellect...

the Slavs would sooner wage war against
themselves than allow
the Germanic self-flagellation of importing
cheap labour from former colonies...
these "good Christian" vessels of soullessness:
vacated by the riches from Arabia
eat ******* camel jockey types and typos
in H'arabic...

there is no culture war... there's only a cultural vacuum:
a lethargy: a great stink about this whole
myopic miasma...
with the established state of Israel and what
remains of the jewry in Europe
the fascinating dynamic of the arrival of a muslim
cohort of: sensibly minded idle citizens
that uber uber uber uber...
kamikazee delivery drivers from the mouths
of Bengal... hey presto: cheap as chips analogies...

so there's no problem with calling they it not i?
after all: it is a pronoun...
it's coming, they are?
          hmm... fetishes to the fore...
*** first: but the worst kind of ***:
non-procreative ***...
that's the worst kind of ***...
me and my old lady... i sort of told her:
it's an ancient practice borrowing from Roman times...
surrogacy of males...
i don't mind that you have a daughter
and she's not biologically mine...
guess what? that means i'll be less hung-up
if she "fails" morally...

     i clearly don't mind leaving a fractional imprint
of mine, hereditary on a passing fleece of a feeling
with an offspring...
i'm here to play a game of her throwing
three pebbles into a pool and both of us diving into
it to find them... mystique harry potter esque
the philosopher and the two women in his life:
life rediscovered... lazily tripping up over
sunlight and the predictability of daylight hours
on the tropic of cancer...

the rest of me is unpredictable like the weather
in northern europe: esp. England...

but these fetishists could have chosen a different
angle than latching onto grammar...
by the looks of it i'll gnash at bone
and grit by iron teeth (eisenzähne) with a "debilitating"
glee of: welcome, welcome, all are welcome
to the knochenernteausgraben (bone harvest
unearthing)...

even in sub-culture pops... hormones?
am i that bothered about testosterone levels in
males (like i might have some control over it)
when it comes to how stubble i can deal with
like i might sniff ******* or who's not living with grandma
like this woman is fertile, no, this woman is not fertile:
she's renting her womb to two homosexuals
vying for a proto-baby
    and this ***-first dynamic is going to go on forever
before Russia joins forces with China and India
and leaves the atomised man in
shrapnel still clinging to the crucifix-*****?
as if 2000 years of the rabbis warning us against
the advent of the self-sacrificial saviour were not
a lesson in diabolical narcissism...
it's plain as day to date...

          even with the structures intact...
christianity is unlike hinduism...
this makeshift monotheism with
polytheistic tendencies for schisms
is unlike any original European polytheism...
there's a U.B.D. / B.B.D. (use by date,
best before date) attached to it... like food...
given... well... christianity is food if you think twice
about the metaphor of the bread and the wine...
**** me... phoo! the wine has become a rancid
balsamic vinegar and the bread is mouldy!

islam on the other hand is only bound to the strength
of the dino juice... black gold...
it's strength is only temporary given
no longer needing to burn wood and instead
using gas and the mechanisms of oil propellers...
temporary ibn Saud paradise...

hardly a critique of capitalism: which is a force for
good... should the capitalist be the one
building railroads and autobahns...
giving wages, providing stable work,
pensions...
but the current capitalist is a capitalist in name alone:
chances of an honest wage for honest labour?
chances of a pension?
gig economy, the underclass of workers i'm in
already dictate the failsafe dynamic of
"contract" with: an "optional opt out"
regarding a pension scheme...
there is none...

                            some daydream akin to the ****
project circa 1950s with a home a stability
without the frenzy of hustling...
one generation old one generation bound...
some eugenics variation
and oh how the women love to call out
the men who didn't reproduce
but seeing some of the women that have
i do wonder what sort of pristine genetics are
being pressed and passed on
since i'm in an intellectual-zombie-land
from time to time... or pretty much all the time...
so i drink: to numb the pain...
so i drink: to numb the pain...
hmm... maybe that's why i drink:
to numb the intellectual dead-weight i have
surrounding me...

it's a good excuse... there is no other...
jeez... coming back to that without-persona language
the Polish border guards sometimes you:
the verb-exclusive pronoun-de-clusive
pronoun-non-inclusive of:

zdjąć - take off.. achtung achtung!
i.e. not
            zdejmij - czy czy: could you?
czy mógłbyś zdjąć twoje buty?
could you take off your shoes?

               so much for some vagary of an upheaval
in the queers for grammar in English...
it's almost very funny: but it's only just slightly
funny coming from a people not used
to how depersonalisation happens in language
when spoken off: rather than of or to...

like that saying from true detective...
am i a good person?
no... i'm not a good person...
i'm a bad bad man...
the sort of bad man that keeps the other bad men
away from knocking on your door...
i'm that sort of bad man...
the sort of bad man that keeps your
idiosyncratic selves in check
before they are no more than a statistic
in a serial killer's tally 正

                but even i have rules and sensibilities
that question when experiencing questionalibities
of: basic structures, like in language:
grammar...
       that sort of **** just makes me hit the monster
button within me...
and my ego becomes less a unit
of identity... and more akin to...
      a mouth that chews, grunts, burps...
bites... my ego is currently in the form of:

mundnichts... mouth-nothing....
        pupilleessenauge...
pupil eating eye...
                   in mich: ein legion von
alle der schrecklich gedanken!
         ha ha! wie ein teuflisch zirkus!
Cynthia Oct 2016
sveiks dārgais
šodien tev īpaši izceļās acis
vai zināji?
tās mirdz vairāk nekā parasti
vai tu ieraudzīju kaut ko, kas tās apžilbināja?
vai varbūt tās cenšas ieviest gaismu sev apkārt?
apspīdēt cilvēkus, kurus tās uzlūko (?)
vai varbūt tās vienkārši glabā sevī noslēpumu
man nav ne jausmas
tikai tu to zini
es vēlos kaut tu man pateiktu
kaut tu uzrunātu mani
kaut vai bez vārdiem
bez skaņām
bet ar klusumu
ar kustību
ar savu ķermeni
to skaisto ķermeni, kurā dzīvo tava dvēsele
ķermeņa valoda ir pati skaistākā
tā spēj pateikt vairāk nekā simtiem vārdu
tavs smaids ir skaistākā rindkopa šajā stāstā
tu to atkārto tik bieži,
katru dienu
taču man nekad nepietiek..
nekad nevar būt par daudz tava žilbinošā smaida
manas lūpas nekad nespēj pretoties
acis iemirdzās,
sirdspuksti paātrinās
un sākas jauns stāsts,
kurā piedalās mūsu ķermeņi
tie raksta ar saviem locekļiem
pasaku, kurai nav beigu
tā nekad nebeidzas
bet gan turpinās
arī tagad
manas acis uzlūko tevi
tās iekāro tevi no jauna
mana sirds alkst pēc tavas mīlestības
ak mans mīļais
es vēlos veidot jaunu mākslas darbu
paņemsim rokās otas un ļausimies
nedomāsim par laiku
jo laika mūsu pasaulē nav
esam tikai mēs
un mūsu māksla
BML Aug 2013
Tak bez aspiracji, bez admiracji,
Hałasuje oraz wykrzykuje nie mając racji.
Chaos, Hańba, pogardzenie,
Jestem cool, gdzieś mam ciebie.
Właśnie już, tu i teraz, bez żadnej biurokracji.
Adasyev May 2017
***
Všechno je projasněné,
už nejsou žádné temné kouty.

Nikdo už nad ničím
hlavou nezakroutí.

Vše projasněné je
jak nebe, než se zšeří.

Bez klik fantazie
jsou nástrahy příšeří.

Do světa pohádek
poletí nazpátek

stíny bez páteří.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
bez ze mnie to tylko kurwy!
bez ze mnie to brak matk!
co ja? igrek w stonoge piękna pająk!?
o ty równasz ciepło... ty ciepło?!
ja więcej z grama węgla wydobie
dla mego nagiego ciała niż ty w
odzienie dotyku dajesz!
do arabii spierdu chytrością lisa ty!
no! już! dawaj!
Jan Paweł drógi prosi o odwarcie kałczugu
bounce bounce na immigrant i także sprzedarz!
taniej ty niż skóra wiepsza na butach
iskry, w raptem wosk wax o imie dziewicy ha ha
samogwaltu twego ojca;
to chyba piask w butach, surname Sahara,
a twoje imie Samara.
LW Jun 30
Jsem pustá poušť
Ty pouštní duna má

jsem kytara
a Ty jsi struna mezi strunama

jsem divný divák
který se nedívá

jsem napnutý luk
a Ty jsi má tětiva

posledním slokám které znám
dám na zem spadnout s hlavou chladnou
bez básní můžu zavřít krám
bez veršů všechny lásky zvadnou

jsem řeka
a Ty té řeky pramínek

jsi prak
a já jsem Tvůj kamínek

jsem kruté moře
Ty mořské pobřeží

jsem hrozná válka
ty jsi mé příměří

posledním slokám které znám
dám na zem spadnout s hlavou chladnou
bez básní můžu zavřít krám
bez veršů všechny lásky zvadnou

Autor: Ladislav Pecháček
an unnoticed gem
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LCyHDIak-0k
Adasyev Jun 2018
***
Je jedna adresa na vrchu nebe,
kam jednou doručí

mě, možná i Tebe,

ale je jedno místo o dost blíž zemi,
kde topí zadarmo,

kde nejsou peníze,
tak jako v nebi.

Tam někde nahoře máš výhled shůry
a můžeš tam potkávat

nebeské můry,

ale tam někde dole Ti shoří křídla
a žízeň uhasí

jen podzemní vřídla.

Je jedna adresa na vrchu nebe,
kam jednou pošlou

můry i Tebe,

ale je jedna adresa o dost níž k zemi,
kde vaří zadarmo,

kde nejsou stravenky,
tak jako v nebi.

Tam někde navrchu jsou nebeské kůry
a andílci z KFC

maj' křidýlek fůry,

ale tam dole pod zemí jsou kosti bez stehen
a duše tam nespravíš

jediným stehem.

Je jedna adresa na vrchu nebe,
kam jednou doručí,

co zbyde ze mě,

ale je jedno místo lehce nad zemí,
kde život se v prach

pro jednou změní.
Volně inspirováno písní "Heaven and Hell" (John Entwistle).
Adasyev Jul 2017
Padal jsem podzemní přírodou
do mrznoucích niter
kde nikdo nebyl,

alejí rtuťových výbojek
spěchal jsem naproti
černému nebi.

"Zvířata zalezla dovnitř
a zvířata vylezla ven,
vsaje krev kámen dřív
než nůžky ohlásí den?"

Spěchal jsem podzimní přírodou
do města mlh
kde nikdo z vás nebyl,

zástupy jiter řinčely
po osmé
a po sté se skrývaly hřeby.

"Mumie zalezlá uvnitř,
mumie žene mě ven,
pomalí ptáci na kostkách
a mezitím tuhnoucí krém."

Hledal jsem pobřežní cestu
v inverzi jitra
kde jako bych nebyl,

s duší a bez duše
křižoval město
zdarma jak úplný debil.
Adasyev Jul 2016
Stínové divadlo, plátno bez mraků
Polibky paprsků chutnají mdle
Žně slunce, výstřižek kadeří prachu
Scéna se spalovnou na čelním skle

Tváře a vteřiny končí pod koly
Nad pěstí siluet vztyčené gesto
V stříbrném příboji plovoucí vory
Za hradbou doutná hořící město

Sto věží padá na žíhané domy
Sto věží nad kvádry, ze kterých zebe
Pás oken zazdil tašky střech do tmy
Pár trysek kreslí žíhané nebe
Štěrboholská/Jižní spojka, březen 2009
Dante Rocío Jan 2021
Zegar popuszczony. Drewno w deski popękane.
Twoje dziecię po raz enty leży w sofie, jakby nieznane.
Czy widziałeś jakże gołębice są dziś rozszlajałe?
Białe a wyprute, jakbyś coś z żeber z alabastru na wióry mi
pasem skórzanym przerobił.
Pogardą jakże ci koniak a nie me oczy ambulansem!
Wargi sąsiada jak posąg dawidowy a nie me wyżebrane!
A sen nas dwojga na strychu już tylko we krwi coś znaczy?
Mętny widok asów, pików czy trefli bez serca twej „królowej” spił cię
i na wiersz w popielniczce przerobił?

- Ty co stoisz dumna, niby poharatana,
nie wiem jak siebie samego odpędzić.
Jakiś ból liliowy, jakiś pieniądz w twarz córce rzucony,
ekstaza z barw i szkarłatu przed oczyma już tylko
do anestezji się sprowadza.
Bo, powiedz, czymże trzask twych żeber, o potomku zapomnienie,
jak nie chwilą gorzką małego goździka
co zaraz nagle w przełyku zaniknie?
Po cóż pierścień zaręczynowy, czesne, ognisko Hestii,
śmiech twój platynowy
jeśli stoi przyszłość jak twój posag stracona?
Ten salon, ten pas, ten orgazm, każda sprawa lichwy ci warta.

- Bez wykładania ci na ławę „przynajmniej ja nie...”,
chociaż stanę ci wyzwaniem i ostatnim tchem
jaki marmur mych kości coś jeszcze się broni
i spytam, nie wycofam:
Ten ból, ten skowyt co mówisz, jak czyn schowany Nazarejczyka,
u stóp w wodzie twych pracujący,
czy znać ci dać co przekazał przez wsze narody?

- Naprzód, wypatruję

- Co na Ziemi związałeś, w niebie się nie odstanie,

                jak puls w żyle ci zostanę

                     choćbyś martwy i go wydrapał

                                na pozór.
A prompt for the lesson of Polish language on describing current tribulations a married couple is prone to facing and falling to in modern times. On physical intercourses, betrayal, alcoholism, hasard, life after death, doves that go berserk from wife’s pain by the hands of husband’s violence and how it all might have no sense at all when one would look at humanity’s life and goals maybe
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
pre-scriptum: zapisałem sie... jutro wyśle zdięcia... fatalnie zakochany w tych grotach.

jak by mnie myślnym / myśliwym tokiem myśli nie chcieli równać z sobą to bym odmówił, lecz nadali film wedle Sokratesa, a ja Anglikom odmówie, bo chcem, nawet po kurz Mongolii, mam dość tępych Irlandczyków! przeciąg mnie dusi! te wyspy to wyryty gnój Ameryki.

te zdzięcia zbyt kuszaące - jak już powiedziałem pewnej dziewczynie na internecie... nie sprzedam mojego głosu jeżeli mi nie zaplacą! a nic nie dali, jeno gówno! to powiem je w gromadzie takich co mówią na migi - jak ten co z pochodnią na wejście smoka a poszedł trysta razy! zapominieć mówienia po polschu (ja niby Żyd, w Buenos Aires? no, niby post-Holocaust, to takie tango a nie tanz Bar Mitzvah w aleii Golders Green) - jak jedna: wiem skąd burak jest jak niby pochodnią nad ziemi chwytem w otchłan piękna i stokrotki... czyli: co jabłoń da, to róża odbierze, piękno niby było jadalne, a owoc ten jadalny był pięknem, który nigdy nie odda cierpieniu zacmienia, a jednak ponownie, ponownie, ponownie; jednak nadal w wstecz na gre: ojczyzna! ojczyzna! z agrafką po to by odnaleść tą sfobodną szlachte naszego rozbroju: co znaczy życie nasze a ich jeno kichnięńciem, księcia, ktoóry ksiądz imitacją ochlał wedle vino veritas!

kurwa! kartoflana gleba tłumaczenia Joyce'a!

Londyn to ino klejnot Arabii, tu nic nie rośnie, jeno głab czyli muzg kapusty, to znaczy oklask Mensa... nie?!

te zdzięcia i ja to jak ramie w ramie ze złudną imprezą za tą Ostanią
czyli mortum fatali

jak Narcyz wpatrzyłem sie w nie i myśle by nawiać na wyspy Owcze czy też Mongolie, zdala z tej lachy "swiata" i ludobójstwa ekonomicznego, wkoło mnie tylko wieprz gra na wiolonczeli, i tak dobrze gra że motłoch nie zna falszu od falsetto, jeno udaje na tle cytatu psa mówiącego: sausages! sausages! how! how!

więc wole w tych lochach odbytem powiedzieć co Zachód zna jako rękopis mojej zdrady, bo ja tu następnej i tej cholernej minuty wole w Syberie gnać, z duchem czy bez ducha... Gangrene Green... mysli tu jakiś z Essex'u tuman że Rzym odlalazł bez akcentu na literach; bo tu każdy pyta czy jest szalony czy tylko napisał Alicja w Kraine Czarow i Pedofilii.

post-scriptum: czemu nie piszom Řešów? bo im škoda? Wojewoda Prostanoga ptija - bo to po Ruszku pyta... a cygan... to znacy chyba. Holender i stare smieci... ale boli kiedy powrót stanowi więcej niż tempus lux.
Cynthia Dec 2013
Kafija
citiem tā vairāk tīk melna
citiem balta
bet man bez cukura.
Kafijas garša ir neaprakstāma
nevajag lsd vai mdma
jo kafija spēj aizstāt visu.
Tai plūstot manī
es sajūtos kā paradīzē
jo kafijā ir kaut kas īpašs,
kaut kas tāds,
kas nav citos dzērienos.
Kafija liek man aizmirsties
un man tas patīk.
Mana burvju dzira
uz mūžū...
Adasyev Jul 2017
Cihlové stínadlo, divan bez prachu
Výhybky prskavců chutnají zle
Hne sumcem, vylíže střídavě bráchu
Semena s holbou na výkladním skle

Páry a mrdiny končí pod voly
Nad hrstí úliteb vítězné gesto
Stříbrné příbory v podpraží hulí
Za bradou dřímá horoucí těsto

Proč běží sádla na získané body
Proč běží pro kádry, ze kterých jebe
Pásovec zas dal hlavičku do tmy
Pár krysek sladí sžíravě sebe
Adasyev Jul 2017
Vyběhli mufloni z lesa ven,
šli po chodníku na přechod

to nemohl být sen, Dano
ten den byl tenkrát bez nehod

mufloni běželi z brány ven,
jen tak, aby se neřeklo,
běželi běželi v krásný den;
potom jsem šel na pivo.

Ale koho to zajímá,
když jste všichni v prdeli.

Kdybyste tam byli vy,
doufám, že by vás přejeli.

Běžela zvířata krásná jak den,
šla na hadovku posedět;
Co kdybys tam byla ty?
Mohla ses to dozvědět.

Kdybyste tam byli vy
a všechny vaše důvody,
mufloni a mufloni,
zkurvení.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
mój jenzyk, moja czystość, mój brat moja siora! kiedy ja tam w głowie pra dziada takim pod iglatym krzyżem żyda na równo brał?! kiedy?! kiedy?! czemu czekaniem w anglii?! czemu?! boje sie horyzontów takich jak tych! boże... czemu to marszem wydarzenie nagłe wprost na pustynie wyrytych narodów jakby kretów w mgle czerni? czemu ubogi w krakowie prosi mnie o czerń żelaza a nikogo innego?! gdzie ja w cebulowym kościele, gdzie ja?! na płacz... ja na płacz a nie na grób rodzinnym?! czemu... czemu?! daj mi chociaż wrót do ziemi! daj mi chociaż wrót do ziemi! ja lach z czynu i kości! ja lach z czynu i kości! ja werset bez czynu razy raz jeszcze raz! szfeda płacz. daj mi swego syna cień ciała, znania mieniem krzyż i pacior.*

szkło w deszczu
mówi więcej
niż mgła
przy ogniu iskry, czy tam
sfobody ćmy przy świecy,
bo kto pyta o wizerónek
słów przy lustra snów moża
czy tem narcyza
na tle jeziora bez rzeki
w gęsich makiarzu na tle
marszu gęsi szwastiki -
to o tyle pyta.
tyle mi mówi płacz,
ten izrael północy, ta polska,
z tym edynburgiem jako ateny
czy ten sankt petersburg
jako wenecja.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
chór! i duch!
               blady... rym...
ale i też wygoda powrotu
jako niby żyd... bo
te paluski... i ten *lajkonik
...
kiev w warszawie... na
tym tle: bo to gwar gadania
i autobus w pizdzie nocy i
zimy... ceka... ceka.

   o bodziem...
  punk kot w czekam
i czoło i glebe i rys islamu,
   i szkło skalu w czaszke
i gołote... i ten... pierdolony kosciół!
goły... naked...
         the cat weighs about 10 kilograms
i'm obviously going to head-**** him
to say good morning...

rrrrrryb ah! koscioł! groto i smród!
rekąpis!                   ryba! flu flu flu!
oj tu: pingwin sie zgina! huj! bra!
   tu! zeżre te polsche... te polsche...
zerwie z nią... bo co?
jakie narodziny mam, "celebrować"?
ja na typ o motłoch? baba?!
taki typ by na miet i slóp -czysłav?!
pats! prostak z... miasta...
  chleba mało... tsa zebrać...
seplień seplień se o se: nago
      i choroba... gniew... grób;
padaj! jak gwóźdz w trumne
czy tam gówno w toalete...
       tsa u... tu com sa, tam com sa...
ja na wygnań!
        ja wygnany, co mi te poloki?
półtłoki? boli, nie? zyh poza granicą,
tam, dam ci kwit i... kćuka!
                 kćuka! na witaj huju!
potem -senką: za casów Herod'a...
  co sfe: pio... senką; taki tanz: oi! ola ola o!

taki zemnie polok, jaki ten
pierw żyd, co pyta:
  
  pytam... bo czekam...

(choir and [the] ghost).

    warto pytać, oto wiem że o nic nie czekam
(nie czekam o nic... po? nie czekam o nic...
po prostu czekam; tak tak, nic nici nić nitka nikt;
kurvfa shoelaces... you ******* deaf
or watching kochaj albo rzuć?       );
tym warte pytać of -zyk-
kiedy nie w... kraju...  or-zelek... or-zelek...
              taki kwaśniewski co tylko sepleni...
blah blah blah... potem na gniew
vay vest vey kal it a p-cle... susumber: or cueue...
         oi oi! wrona! hej! wrona!              co tam?!
eh, ten rojs siber tesz popierdolony...
rrrrreeee lee, wrona! co tam?
o kurva... terz troche... mmm uhum... mm... eh?
   is bez powrotu... taki... niby...
dobry fason i wybór słów
    jako dobry wójek... po glebie jak po
grzbiecie psa
...
ah ten pysk.... taki dobry pies
mógł być, a potem, nagle, naturalnie:
wściek! pyska... harem! harem!
         harem! grypa! grypa! ugh!
                                golem!
    co tam wyrośnie, to tam nigdy nie było...
ani cebula co płacze, ani
           burak któremu zęby
   wypadają...
      oś? czy... osa? i z tym językiem
bez tego języka gwarancji?
            taki jam obcy...
   ja nawet obcy gadać obcym... do perfekcji...
jaki to musi być nud... aby było
              jak to musi być, skoro jest?
    last time i checked... pretty **** awful.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
keep me in this prison: to recount the spinning
labyrinth of thought before falling
to sleep only 14 hours ago...
                      and having done so:
dreaming up the most uncomfortably real dreams -
not that detailing them would be worth
anything...

   begging myself: remember the words
prior to sleep: write them down: you fool!
the "other" man is speaking - rising from the depths:
the child "abadoned": to curate this tongue
has risen from the depths by chance
of you favouring to enter them in turn...

a protest concerning kenneth rexroth:
but sir... what's there to boast about?
    aren't you reading Proust as a translation?

keep me in this prison... as of today...
a few chapters from the pickwick papers:
yes... i do kind Dickens much easier on the eye:
and most certainly much more peacock-strutting
than Shakespeare...
            perhaps with the exception of Macbeth:
as ever... exceptions can and sometimes
must be made...
                      however: minor...

and in between chapters... well...
                         a swedish ***** and some tonic
and lime...
            and then the windowsill...
perched on a folded leg...
       smoking a cigarette... continuing
to sip the thrill zapping... crisp and cutting...
      warm snow...
                       and the song...
             qui nous demaine:

                  trois fleurs d’amour i trouvai
                  en la bonne estraine
                  voici le mai, le joli mois de mai
                  qui nous demaine...

in the rendition of corvus corax...

yet another moon-less night...
         such nights: where it almost feeds to be inclined
to conjure up some nearby nomad with
a robe attired with stars...
         a silver globus of glistening
romance and death...

                  such nights when the moon
doesn't appear...
            and frankly... the clouds have settled
for keeping the man in the ***** of earth:
never to aspire toward galileo and copernicus ltd.
in protest! for astronomy!

yes... between reading the pickwick papers...
and listening to some music:
never the two at the same time...
a parting of the seas...
the art of reading: in the sea of silence...
where you can fiddle with...
    a whisper from the buzzing aeon bound
to minutes: the sound of an electric demon
in a lightbulb...

and of course beyond this sea of silence:
a sea of sighs and yawns...
a flipping of a page: like a crease in time -
or a passing whale-shaped-tsunami
of sound...          to then the music...

as death would have it: beside the music...
perhaps once upon a time...
but i do not believe it:
a pen on paper - a hunched crow left scratching
with its claws...
while a fire **** between such
imaginary creatures took place in a candleflame...
but no music...
perhaps in the 20th century:
the radio... and the type-writer: machine-gun...
the radio static would have aided
the mechanisation of the type-type-typo!
scratch-rip! again!

21st century antics?
   pristine quality, earphones...
all the better to not hear the clicking sound
of a lineage of ten little hammers on a keyboard...
perhaps plucking oysters from the depths...
or for that matter pearls...
or perhaps searching for delicate mushrooms
and pulling them by the stump...
still the umbrella royalty still: that sucker's bribe
of pride...

of note: the old tongue wanted an audience...
concerning? drinking... and other... habits...
*****: most certainly... with the lime and tonic...
in "rationed" doses... and a good sleeping
hygiene... i must call it a sleeping hygiene...
at most 12am to bed... and at least 8am the rise...
the drinking:
one day upon a sleeping lake...
another day upon a raving lunatic of a sea!
a time for drinking: a time for thrist...
a time for living and a time for dying...

i tried to imagine myself in one of those a.a.
meetings... self-lacerating myself:
in that secular ugliness: without a monk's tunic
or: tools for: penitence...
after ten weeks or so: clap clap all round applause!
i bet...
       the dry stretch: applause applause:
lady gaga go-go! to live for applause...
b'ah! to ******* with that sort of attitude...
and this is where the old tongue spoke(:)

o piciu?! wersja: jak, pić?!
chcem tego psa na smyczy niż tą smycz: samą!
bez tego psa! ten "niby"
wzamian z tym marno-nerwowym
   człowiekiem! tą śpiącą pijawką!
suma sumarum?
   wole tego psa na smyczy - niż tą smycz
bez psa!
lepiej ja z tym psem na smyczy:
   niz ten czlowiek ze swą śpiącą pijawką!


tr.
     on drinking?! version: how to, drink?!
i want this dog on a leash than this leash:
on its own! without this dog!
                  that "so-called" alternative
with this feebly-nervous human!
                                    that sleeping leech!
<>
i rather this dog on a leash - than this
leash without a dog!
better i with this dog on a leash:
than this human with his sleeping leech!

it's not some eternal wisdom...
but...                                 it's a good enough start...
and yes... please... this prison...
every... single... day, and, night....
forever...
i can become the observant spy mushroom:
the hitchhiker in 1960s psychadelia
mingling with darwinism...
the mushroom that hijacked the ape...
etc.

                  it's a pretty simple list...
a dickens... a ***** and tonic and lime...
a windowsill... a cigarette...
   some... folkish song... i'd much prefer
the lyrics to the sung in anything but english...
french, latin... german... norwegian...
but please... not italian... i'll settle for greek...

if asked: why didn't you marry...
good question...
                why didn't i marry?
                        perhaps this... or perhaps...
i much prefered the 1 hour periods
of entertaining the company of prostitutes
in a brothel?
               honest transactions: stealing kisses...
the mainstream already laid the generic
framework: jack the ripper sort...

                      well: from judas to jesus
to me to the... "lowest denominator"...
                                            or so "they" say...
since if there was anything to be celebrated
at easter... outside of a homogenous catholic
nationhood... in england...
the lair of the huguenots...
         well... i teased reading kabbalah...
i teased reading the gnostic texts and i really did go
mad about the nag hammadi library...
after a while though:
can i change the direction of the Vistula
by putting a stick in the middle of it?
i certainly: ha ha! river... not the sea:
what can you do? turn the time and the flow?

anyway... catholicism...
                the usual suspect rubric check-list...
baptised? had i any say in it?
first communion? did i have any say in it
or would you rather ask whether
i lied when taking my first confession?
a first confession is a precursor to a first communion...
or... i don't remember...
i played the xylophone at the st. augustine's
primary school nativity play:
yeah... and drinking under-age...
crux of the matter: if we're all about peacocking
and comparing all the little richards
via the 3rd's **** or whatever...
confirmation?                      yeah...
          ­           so much for a church wedding...

all that... and i have to come back...
sensibly... catholic intellectualism or sorts...
bribe me and i might take it seriously...
love me and i might even throw in some fiasco
of apologetics... but then i'd be like
a monkey at a sushi bar: eat it? fling it?!
the only sensible consolidation of
a celebration of easter...

    the winter has been crucified...
                 and today was the first day i could
pick up a scent of spring...
in the rain... it trickled with...
earth... from far away... dry sand... mingling
with the water... the wind must have
picked up the sand from sahara and a dollop
of the evaporating mediterranean...
flung it to these isles...

                       yes: origins in catholicism...
which always more fun to break away from...
"apostate": notably watching apostate intellectual
jews and their spezial brand of atheism...
since: i mean... trust a catholic convert to
judaism? trust a *** reading into gnosticism?
or trust a muslim at all?
                         basic questions of: a priest,
a rabbi...                        a druid walk into a bar...
sort of jokes...
           there a litany of them...
a whole 'ymn book o' 'em!
                       sam's the weller! see the son?
moi noi'ver!

         but back and forth back and forth
within and without catholicism...
                                it's not as fun... black-clad
sober, serious, surplus of secularism...
                         all that: agitation from... what the persians
rebelled against... when finally the islamic
schism came so early...
and the ****'ites and... the persians like
the good choir boys of catholicism...
     one eye is said to be reserved for reading...
one eye is said to be reserved for admiring...
           it's hard to admire a text...
                          when it's even harder to read
into a sculpture!

oh yes... i like this prison... very much...
                                             where, is, my, mind?!
Dana Skorvankova Aug 2016
Musí to přeci jít
Musí to jít
Žít bez citů

Vždyť svět o sobě
Neví, že je má
Tak, jako neví,
Že vnímám

Musí to přeci jít
Musí to jít
Dívat se bez slz

Vždyť dokud v naší zemi
Nebylo lidí,
Nikdo nebyl s to
Slzu utratit nad ní
A je ticho,
tak, jako bylo
tak, jako bude
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
ty czyń mi co polak polaku... a nie ten skórwosić bólo-błąg łamania oczy-dam mattce i reszte pśym-ganagu! ty z zapomnienia by teś powiedzi łamane goobye: ja ci kurwa krewnym? ja ci kurwa krewnym?! spirdalaj tam gdzie cie mongoł łaskocze czołem wyrytym ambicją modłu wersją w dywan; lachu'hu'ju! albo to, albo kurwa: Wieden.... ja nie tobie krewny! o! patsy! polska slachta sie obudza! chyba cas na: sejmik... tak, pospolicie mówie... bez akcentu: po wiejsku! czy tam szwinsku! krew we mnie zastygła: płynie jeno rtęć... ja sam putin kiedy wabie polskie media poza exodus w anglii, na swojskim gnoju.*

słów wedle ognia ojca
na czyn ten
          zapomnieć
   wtargwienie...
                   skupą u dna..
bez dnia...
nie ty jeden ubity
         oddechu martwy i
      warty braku łzu:
                krokiem kruka:
nie tyś ostatni wichrem na tylko:
                   by zaznać gnatom łomonym,
a wtór! kałczugą łamany, to co:
śmierdzi opałem, i piwniccą!
bodaj jutro, i chybył: rodzaj zza
       kwestją powiat...
     bo to ci gniew: bogiem zgra
            rękąpis wątek bydła,
ku wnet liczidłem w słowo....
    nadać iskr: szumu mieniem wiatr,
martwa skorupa oddechu da,
co o myśl wątku wyda tchłu: wakacyjna gwardia
    czołem i kolanem w pacierz,
zbyt, nabity, i tym, wymuszony;
           skragi: ostatek.
Cynthia Jan 2014
cik grūti ir kaut ko izdarīt
grūti saņemties
un iet uz priekšu
gribu būt brīva,
bez pienākumiem un noteikumiem
gribu dzīvot tā, kā pati vēlos
gribu iet gulēt četros no rīta
un celties divos dienā
gribu izdzert kafijas tasi pēc pamošanās
un ingvera tēju pirms gulētiešanas
gribu skraidīt magoņu laukā
un sajust skaisto ziedu smaržu.
es gribu tik daudz..
bet vai kādreiz kāds uzklausīs?
izdarīs tā, kā  t u  vēlies?
tam ir domāti sapņi
Juce sam imala neku terapiju na senjaku u 11h, kicma, u zurbi sam izasla iz stana okrenula 2 puta kljuc, izvukla ga, spustila se stepenicama do lifta, pozvala lift, a onda se setila da nisam ponela mobilni, bio mi je vazan, okrenula se, spustila stepenicama, izvadila kljuc i krenula da ga ubacim u bravu, kad ono nece, probaj drugi put, nece, treci, nece, sijalica ne radi, neki polumrak, cucnem da vidim da se nesto nije pomerilo, gledam kljuc da se nije polomio, oblija me znoj, ne mogu da verujem, pocinjem da se nerviram, vec kasnim na terapiju, ustajem spustam se niz stepenice, zovem lift, dok se vozim do dole razmisljam, trebace mi bravar, ne mogu da cimam tatu, znam za jednog na vracaru pravi kljuceve, mozda se razume i u brave, al subota je ko zna da li mogu da ga nadjem, dolazim do stanice, ulazim u trolu, vozim se kratko, srecom postoje table koje me navode do mesta gde sam se uputila, uazim u zgradu, doktor me prima, vrsi pritisak na bolno mesto, izvija me, mozda da se vratim da pitam komsinicu da li ima baterijsku lampu, da probam jos jednom, prebacuju me na struju, laser i ono trece uvek zaboravim, lezim na boku, prija mi hladan gel, zalim se sta mi se dogodilo, tesi me, mozda je sve u redu, ipak cu se vratiti da pogledam jos jednom,  ulazim u trolu, cekam zeleno, smirujem sebe, bice ok, prelazim ulicu, proradice, dolazim do zgrade, ulazim u lift, pritiskam dugme za cetvri sprat i tad shvatam gresku u koracima, pocinjem da se smejem, mislim se, da li me je neko video od komsija, spustam se niz stepenice bez problema ulazim u stan, nastavljam da se smejem, ne mogu da verujem sta sam uradila, rekli su mi da u stanu ispod ne zivi niko, srecom, uzimam mobilni, zakljucavam vrata, silazim niz stepenice, spustam se liftom, vozim se trolom, svracam do kokija da se castim nekim secerom, kakvo olaksanje, odlazim kod mojih na rucak, pomislim na tebe, pomisim i na sebe i svoju izgubljenost, ne zameram ti na reakciji, shvatam da te nesto puca iznutra, puca i mene, i ko bi poverovao da je takav susret moguc opet, logika namece, ako je ono pocetak, ovo je kraj, ali kraj cega, i da pobegnemo, da precutimo, da se sutra susrecemo bez prepoznavanja, problem ce i dalje ostati u nama.

mh maj 2017
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
Aniu,

dostałem słuchy na temat grafiki - nie jestem Surrealist'ą z poprzedniego wieku (tzn. dwudziestego), to już mineło... może i też miałbym pozory sfobody by skrytką zza popularną sztuką miałbym brać jakiegoś malarza na front jak by to było wydanie Ortodoksji zwane Penguin Publishing House, ale wolałbym mieć pod uwage geneze, tzn. kompromis braku koloru i tą nadrentą komplikacje modernizacji na tle "programming" szyfrem komputera - a ten kompromis? szyfr chemika... wiem że to może brzmić zbyt contra idei ładnego obrazka czy tez ikonoklazm'u wedle sukcesu sprzedarzy książki - ale jak orginał to orginał, bez kiszeczki, bo kto tak naprawde chce pokazać tważ niechaj pokarze ją niż maske pierw - wiec myśle o notatkach z sfer chemii w goły-trakt poezji. przesyłam jeden przykład, trzymam notatki inne takrze gotowe, ale to jeden przykład; nie chce sie chować pod skórą innych artystycznych wybryków - szczegółowo poza gruntem orginału pisma jako malunek pierw, a pismo po (ksiązka to nie Boeing 747: obraz pierw a dzwięk po - tzn. dzwięk pierw, a obraz po) - a więc i też skreślam zaufanie co do piękna malowidła jako przeciw tego samego niby ambasador'a dającego ochrone pod tytułem: brzydastwo wiersza konieczne; wole by jedno z drugim miało zaufanie, czy też wpomnienie obojga na począt i na koniec:  na trasie wątpień i zarysów warte twarzy w publicznym miejscu poza oh ah ah oh galerii. a więc zakończe - inne e.g. prześle jutro - ten jako prolog w temacie: o co mi chodzi.

Mateusz.

p.s. oczywiście ominołem ę czasem, lecz jest zachowane w przykładach głębin - ale to nazwe proto-ortografia Polaka poza Polską, takie potrzebne lustro w Angielskim 's - czyli liczby mnogej co nawet tłumacz by powiedział: sprechen Deutsche?
Nick Strong Dec 2019
Talk to me, talk to me of Old St. Nick
Talk to me of Sinterclaus
Of Mikulas, Pere Noel, or Babbo Natale

Talk to me of candles, christingle and a silent night
Talk to me of crackers, carols and calamities
Talk to me of snow, sleighs, and stars
Talk to me of Christmas cards, wrapping paper
Talk to me of gold, old spice and mice
Talk to me of icing, icicles
igloos, ivy
Holly
Oh sweet Hollie
Tots of Drambuie
Marmalade and toast

Talk to me of Philip Scholfield
Carols From Kings
Mary Poppins
Scrooge
Festive films
Radio Times
And things that are too pretty
Lights, nights
Hark, Dark
barking dogs
tinsel
Tinsel Town
Wolves at the door
Salvation Army playing once more

Talk to me
Talk to me
Cream Crackers, cheese
Frosty mornings, old knees

Talk to me of snow covered alpine forests
Gateaux
Cherries
walnuts and berries
Festive fun,
A seasonal run
Of All Gold telly
With a full belly
Farts, sprouts
Turkey that tastes just like chicken
Oh talk to me of
Terry Wogan
Rosh Jogan
Grogan Josh
Last minute deals
Black Friday
White Friday
And all the Cyber Mondays

Talk to me of
Happy Mondays
Dancing Bez
In a Festive Fez

Talk to me
Talk to me
Of Festive time
Late nights
Early mornings
Beer
Cheer
All in entertainment

Oh talk, TALK to me
Of hangovers,
sleep overs
gloves
mittens
and cute kittens

Oh talk to me of
fake Chanel
Faux Fur and underwear
Celvin Klein

Talk to me , Talk to me of
Jonah Lewie
Bony M
The Pogues
and all those rogues
Fairy tale of New York
Stop the Cavalry
Mary's Boy Child
And the
Spaceman who came riding by

Oh talk, Talk , Talk to me
of places, and spaces We all know
Christmas markets
Tesco, Aldi and John Lewis Adverts showing
Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
Chris
Oh talk to me
Oh talk to me of old St. Nick

Talk to me
Talk to me
Eggnog
Talk to me
Talk to me
Bah humbug
Talk to me
Talk to me
Happy Christmas
Read aloud at speed. Enjoy!
the dreamer Jun 2015
Koliko dugo neprimjetno lutaš
prljavim rijekama zla?
Darovana krila gube ti svrhu;
zašto se bojiš poletjeti?

Otvori oči - rekla sam ti nježno,
puno toga ne primjećuješ.
A ti tvrdoglavo zatvorio si dušu
i toneš u psihotičan san.
Iluzija...

Vrijeme prolazi...
Srca su nam prazna pustinja
Gladna ljubavi vičem bez glasa
tebi što ne čuješ i ne vidiš.

Probudi se anđele nezasitne utjehe!
Otvori se dvama morima plavim.
Slijep pored zdravih očiju živiš,
ubijen od strane vlastitog prijatelja.

Probudi se, preklinjem!
Ne želim da toneš u vječni san.
Tihi glas šapuće ti na uho:
Vrijeme prolazi...
sowa Mar 2020
NA KS. DRA HAB. NATANKA W GRZECHYNI MUSZELKI 52 OKTAWY DWIE VON STEFAN KOSIEWSKI Studia Slavica et Khazarica XXI Prolegomena do Niebopolityki PANDEMIA PSYCHOZY Zniweczona Rzeczywistość Zarys Estetyki Chazarów Fascynacja Obłędem


I

Czy Arcybiskup Krakowa Jędraszewski żydoską babkę Wojtyły
z domu Szulc wyniesie na ołtarze Kościoła Rzymskokatolickiego
za rodzicami Santo Subito Lolka przez tzw. populus Romanus
ludzi siatki ojca Hejmo w ramach działań operacyjnych SB?

Czy ważne święcenia kapłańskie ma Jędraszewski od kropienia
wodą święconą żeliwnych klap kanalizacyjnych w mieście Łodzi?
Czy uchodzi, by cudownie rozmnażane przez Dziwisza relikwie
zachowały ważność do usranej śmierci, jeśli gówno przychodzi

II

Kubicy w sporcie z przedmiotów szamańskich nie posiadających
nawet mocy placebo, bez wiary w modlitwę księży i biskupów
Episkopatu Polski, którzy w porze Pandemii CORONA ograniczają
liczbę członków Rodziny Góralskiej na Mszy św. za Ojczyznę?

PS. Nie licząc przychodów Kubicy pochodzących z dofinansowania
amatorskiej aktywności państwowymi dotacjami Morawieckiego
hojną ręką słupa Obajtka w PKN ORLEN, jak poseł Kaczyński nie
zalicza do Rejestru Korzyści obstawy i kierowców biseksualnych.


https://sowafee.jimdofree.com/2020/03/15/na-ks-dra-hab-natanka-w-grzechyni-oktawy-dwie-m52-von-stefan-kosi­ewski-ssetkh-pdnxxi/
Studia Slavica et Khazarica Zarys Estetyki Chazarów
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
co hytre pod skurą jest iglą
         (what's avaricious under the skin is a needle)
na wieków, amen - co gdyby lwem
(forever more, amen - what's apparently a lion)
czy niedźwiedźem, czy też wilkiem
(or bear, or even a wolf)
da tchu! Vlach! ti i ten pierdolony lis!
(will give breath! Vlad! you and that ******* fox!)
eine fuchs! ich! ja stokroć i nocy nadam
(a fox! i! i the fern who will give unto the night)
imion bez konstelacji Achilles'a,
(names without constellations' of Achilles)
pozorom wbrew: na haczyku brwi
(under no pretensions: on the fishing hook of the eyebrows)
na tle pod imion: dobre sumienie
(on the canvas of under-names: a sound conscience)
wramah chszestu.
(in the boundaries of a christening.)
  a co ładne niech paraduje ze
(and what is beautiful, let it parade)
rzołneczykami!           bo to tfu!
(with it's little soldiers! because it's disgusting!)
bo to harfa i hu i true i Polska podbudjed
(because it's a harp and a ha... lost in translation)
is Rosyja i Я: anglo tomme, niet Яck m'eh?
  no kurva: Mongoła trombone!
mi non sprechen Deutsche,
nor operatic, nien moon-sweep tsar -
lovely, lovely juggles the Peckham
in all of us jubbly: day for the awaiting Trotter -
         or the spin frame Jenny my dearest:
spin! spin my spinning dūbblé / double-blah-blah-eh!
plocker / plonker two sons within graft of a blue
Peter sketch for the youngsters whining: or how's that
****** housed and i'm the one that should be
saying: the 'un that neva'h woz?
bites the Barnickle, that 'un does.
               says as much about cubicle cockers
in née said: Varlance: such that it almost sounded like
Versailles, and it too almost sounded likened to
umbrella when saying Paris or parasol.
       or on par: cubicle cockney poetry:
appellation and ***** hairs: stairs -
       needy and scythed: the frightened bunch...
          why then Versailles and squire?
and not: that ol' chip frier -
     fry err, Brighton on marble: succinct slating -
that walk of shame toward the ****.
     they always made the best foster parents,
that **** bumping, **** dumping crowd pleasing
hush for a Lincoln into linguo as Oslo in
libido -
          trucker tongue tie - gears in reverse -
randomised language replenishing that chaos of
became focus of larynx not cubed
but eyes three-dimensional: or cubism.
             and you sort of wish you knew how to
knot rather than not not not -
                your way into a Wahabi Lebanese
sentiment for truancy -
   which you never, really had a chance to get a
hard-on over.
                       this is how art sorta doesn't feel
that much difficult, more of a diarrhoea rather than
a constipation: less a skiing holiday in the Swiss
alps and more weekends spent on the Southend pier.
    well, we all wish to fish in the spaghetti lake
of verbiage: some of us get to,
and what we end up doing is hoping for
a second as cobblers in China, or beef farmers in
Argentina,    or cigar-rollers from Havana -
b'aah.... blah.... b'aah: i say jolted,
i say unsure, i say nervous b'aah - sheep's surrender!
why? it would sort out and destroy our
claustrophilia: as ever a cranium and an elevator...
         and the congregation,
                    and the dry throat.
Ima li ime ta struna
Koja stoji u mestu
Ima li ime ptica
Koja peva u letu

Imas li ime ti
mala zvezdo sjajna
imas li ime
ili je ono samo tajna?


Kako se zoves zeljo jedina
Nije li divno ime tvoje
Kako se zove tajna skrivena
Lica umiljatog sto je?

Sta se krije u tvojim ocima
Ima li negde tvoga imena
Hajde, posluzi se svime
Zeljo moja imas li ime?


Jedan mig i tu
Nestajes lako
Kao u snu

Jedan tren mi
Bez nade tako
Odes ti


Kako se zoves zeljo jedina
Nije li divno ime tvoje
Kako se zove tajna skrivena
Lica umiljatog sto je?

Sta se krije u tvojim ocima
Ima li negde tvoga imena
Hajde, posluzi se svime
Zeljo moja imas li ime?
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
krytyka na żyda to ta sama na krytyke polaka, skoro krytyk na żyda to też krytyk na polaka - skoro żyd bez ziemi to też polak pod włóknem niemca czy russa czy też bezwdzięcznego austrjaka! odsiecz wiednia!

https://goo.gl/2wVUsz, from minute to an hour:
radio-kacap - lost the c somewhere,
had to innovate -
                                              ra - d - yo -
                      радя -
(я to possess it, a punctuation
                                       mark on the letter to stop
the omicron from rotating a fullness)
                               КАЧП - or simply ç (s) -
              ketchup apparently,
                       the slaughter of Zagreb -
                                        Croat piled on Croat
          for a Mexican roll via Tahiti -
                                 kark capa - kark kacapa
(stary kozioł to zwany *cap

         bronz spermy i zapach tzn. cap'a -
   capie ten ogier Poznania w szambie południa
                            na gry czołem z bliska
                  w tenis z innym capem) -
            stary ogier na tle mgły
                   i kozioł kopiący kszięrzyc w orbite
       i w równie starannej rubryki: sto razy jeszcze raz
                                        to samo, bo to dla wieku
   dwa dwa: die tventy secoond centaur /
         die nächster tausendfüßler, year on - year in.
Den
nehasnoucí chtíč, to jest tá pohonná hmota
bez ní sme jako hvězdy bez vodíku
nemůžem vybuchnout a ovplivnit vesmír kolem nás
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
and you now see what they made me do? i'd never thought it would come to this, that i had to crawl back to the mainland of europe to find a publisher, because the appreciation of publishing poetry in england is null, nil, zero, nothing, a mustard seed's worth of hope; this mediation of saving the amazon rainforest to save up on paper and the first yawn of the digital age, among cat videos and ****, there you have it, a massive blotch on the intended utility of this **** thing - i'm not even angry any more, just ****** nervous - or as the old writer said in his appreciation of poverty and feeling guilty concerning what he deemed to be his riches (a record collection and a private library): happy trails kids.*

Droga Pani Anno,

przepraszam za popszedni email, mianowicie że był on bez poważnej formy i tematyki, taki po prostu skrutem. Lecz przez osiem lat nie-ustannego pisania, pisząc do osoby w pozycji umożliwienia publikacji wkroczyła we mnie trema opisywania rzeczywitości - tzn. kiedy widze śledząc pisanie innych poetow na internecie - i tą marude znaną jako rozczarowanie jeżeli chodzi o szanse publikacji, nie tylko jednego wiersza w magazynie poetickim, a o całej książce własnych wierszy to już ża dużo można powiedziec o aborcji dalszych i utrzymanych ambicji. Myśle wiec ze 100 egzemplarzy nie jest asz tak nie realistyczne, wiem że poezja snuci swą muzyke dla nie wielu czytelkników, określone najlepiej dwoma obserwaciami: w angielskich gazetach można spotkać recenzje książek na wiele tematów (autobiografie najczęsciej), lecz o poezji praktycznie nic, oraz fakt że nie dawno tylko jedna książka poezji osiągneła sprzedaż ~10,000 egzemplarzy w Angli - a mówie że 100 nie jest nie realistyczne poniewarz na jednej stronie (hellopoetry.com) mam około 40 zawziętych czytaczy - 936 wierszy i wszytkie przeczytane przez tą skromną kadre - a na facebook.com mam 178 znajomych których poznałem czy to na uniwersytecie czy też w szkole. Tak, a więc 100 egzemplarzy.

Mateusz Conrad E.

— The End —